


Build up our machine

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Keith with long hair, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paladin and Lion connections, Pining Lance (Voltron), Post-Apocalypse, Sentient Voltron Lions, Sort Of, mild body horror, nothing worse than what you'd see in a 12 rated movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-05-07 08:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19205461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is what the Galra have created for them: a perfectly working world, enabling all life to flourish after humans destroyed their own planet.Except maybe, it's not as perfect as it seems. Maybe Lance's world is not is as simple as it appears.So when someone who is meant to be dead comes back to life, and he's offered a deal from something not quite human, Lance realises he's wandered into plans far larger and more dangerous than he ever could have imagined.And maybe Lance doesn't have many options.A dystopian/post-apocalypse Klance AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my new multi-chapter Klance! 
> 
> This was inspired by that 2007 script. I'll admit it. Add that to my continuous wondering about sentient lion connections and the power going out one evening, we have...this idea. It might turn out to be one of my more bizarre ones. Let's see. 
> 
> Thank you for joining me, and I hope you enjoy reading :)

_Number 5 passes three check points each morning. One is broken. They know that but pass it anyway._

 

_Number 4 passes seven in total. Only four are known to them. Only one really matters._

 

_Number 3 knows of all the five they pass and checks them in return. A loop of insignificant  feedback._

 

_Number 2 passes nothing, is seen by nothing. Except for it, of course. There is no life form it cannot see._

 

_Number 1 is monitored in such a way that it has never seen before. Number 1 is known of. But so far there is no other suitable._

 

_It questions if they will be enough. Can be enough. These tiny creatures of dust and flesh, hollowed bones and blood so red._

 

_It doesn't have a choice though. They resonate. And that's all it needs._

 

_But it cannot wait much longer. It’s five separate selves stretch and batter where they hide in ghost spaces with their need to be more, to restore their parts and fissures, replace that which is lacking. To be whole. If such a thing can ever be possible after what has been done to it._

 

_These five. These resonating humans. They will do._

* * *

* * *

 At 3.36pm, it rains.

 

Lance loves the rain. He tips his head back, feeling the drops hit his skin; dives into the rhythmic beat across his face as if the warm water were washing the day away. He breaths in as the atmosphere changes, the scent of the soil morphing as it reacts to the water; chemicals combining, stimulating, beginning all the correct processes and shifts it needs for growth.

 

He stands at the edge of the field near where the juniberry flowers flourish; a guard of fuchsia petals bordering the grain rows, and he bends down to watch as the water gathers on the petals, perfectly circular droplets collecting.

 

He stays for a while almost hypnotised  and before he knows it, the haze begins to lift. He stands, savouring the last few moments of the downpour before it trickles into nothing, the final few drips a harmony as they pulse down from above.

 

Lance checks the time. The rain stops at 3.51pm exactly. Just as it should. Shaking out his hair, he walks from the field to the observation tower, changing from his work boots into his trainers before heading up the stairs to the main analysis deck. Veronica glares at him over her glasses he enters, before throwing him a towel.

 

“Do you have to do that every time? You get water on the instruments!”

 

Lance rolls his eyes, dries himself and then unceremoniously drops the damp towel on his sister’s head. She snatches it away with a growl, stands and Lance winces, holding his hands up in surrender. They’re both adults but that doesn’t mean their mindsets have evolved past being warring children. He knows they can continue this for hours, which is not sensible when they still have three hours of their shift and a quota to fill.

 

“Truce, truce!”

 

Veronica narrows her eyes but nods, and Lance knows she sees this a victory in her invisible scorecard of sibling battles. The oldest, always the petty one.

 

He walks forward and checks the rainfall data, nodding slowly.

 

“We’ll need to petition for another shower in three days, I don’t think we’ll get the correct growth rate without one. Something’s slowing down this crop, I’m not sure what it is,” Lance says as he extracts the data, comparing it from the same time as their last harvest.

 

“Luis said the same of the fruit in D4. You really think it’s the water intake?”

 

Lance pauses, surveys the number charts for a moment before sighing.

 

“It’s my gut feeling but I’ll need to actually run tests if I want to know. Arrrggg I don’t wannnaaaa,” Lance says in a moan.

 

Numbers are fine in general, but staring at reams of data for the next few hours is not how he planned to spend his afternoon. Veronica looks about as pleased as he feels, but they have little choice. So they get to work. It’s a painful three hours in Lance’s opinion, and they’re able to run four tests in the time. However, when they’re relieved from their shift, Lance is no closer to answer.

 

“I’ll keep going with this tomorrow, I know you have other things to do,” he says to Veronica as they part, saving the data.

 

She offers him a grateful for smile before waving and heading off to sector D7, where her next shift will commence. Lance, thankfully is done for the day, and by the beeping of his handheld, so are Pidge and Hunk. He checks their messages before heading out, only stopping by D3 when he notices the time.

 

He waits three seconds. Then, as scheduled, the rain falls.

 

* * *

 

Cultivation is the furthest Division from Central Point, and not for the first time Lance grumbles silently in being placed in the middle of nowhere. At least the shuttles are frequent, timed for shift changes so even with his pause to watch the commencement of the rainfall, he’s more than on time. At the entrance to the shuttle port is a scanner, an automated barrier turnstile that he approaches with only one other person in front of him. He passes through the scanner, a small beep heard as does so, indicating his credentials were checked. He walks to the waiting shuttle, drops into a lilac chair and  resigns himself to the long trip.

 

The shuttle passes through hangers of crops, his own sector vanishing and replaced by different produce, including the maize field he grew up near. There is another shuttle port at this point, giving him a clear view of the past. He indulges in a few memories of running along those pathways from the small local school, racing Rachel, shoes and fingers covered in red dust, crops high over their heads just before harvest season. Most people tend to apply for living space near their own Divisions but there’s only so much housing space, and besides, Lance actually wants to interact with people, not just farming instruments and produce.

 

So he makes the commute, long as it as, every single day.

 

The shuttle path changes as they move through Divisions. It whisks him through the barricades of Produce, their food storage Division, lights becoming dim as the scenery changes to high dark metallic containers, barred and guarded by drones whom Lance can spot even now from his seat. He’s never been sure why the shuttle moves through this area, he’s never seen anyone step on or off from here. Perhaps a show of the defenses, a glimpse of the power should anyone try to attack their painstakingly made crops.

 

Soon though, the darkness once again submits itself to light, this time the shuttle pausing at the calming, warm silver-lit entrance to Nutrition, where a familiar face greets him as the doors open.

 

Hunk falls down into the seat next to Lance, a steady stream of passengers joining them. They fist bump and Hunk yawns, drooping forward slightly.

 

“Rough day, buddy?” Lance says, leaning forward to meet his gaze.

 

Hunk nods, “My shift changed again, I have more hours tomorrow. It’s been like this for weeks and our quota’s are going up. No idea what’s happening.”

 

Lance frowns, remembering the discrepancies of the afternoon. Their work is intrinsically linked, as Hunk creates the precise, nutritionally standardised meals they all receive throughout the day. Lance doesn’t remember a time when everything didn’t work perfectly: their schedules secure, their numbers routine, their roles perfected.

 

After all, that was what the Galra had created for them. A perfectly working world, enabling all life to flourish after humans destroyed their own planet.

 

The changes were...strange to say the least. But, they don’t dwell on it. With Hunk to accompany him as the shuttle moves into the electric city that is Centre Point, time passes by in a flurry.

 

The disembarkation at Centre Point is a world away from when Lance began his journey at Cultivation. They step out into chrome: the gangway, stairs down and corridor towards the checkpoint all a uniform of gunmetal grey as they are submitted to a full scan before entering. This is one of the mostly densely populated areas; it makes sense security is high but Lance still finds the whole debacle tedious.

 

The scanners here are more of an archway, obvious in their purpose unlike many in the outskirts. There are three of them, in a darker metal than the rest of the structure, both sides meeting in a triangle at the top, all connected side by side. Three orderly queues form behind them, Lance and Hunk joining the leftmost. All are monitored by droids, meticulously checking credentials as each person enters. On either side of the checkpoint archways is a glass room, a Galra soldier stationed in each, armour on and facing forward, immovable.

 

Lance sighs as their line barely inches forward, then peers around and groans when he sees what’s causing the hold up.

 

“Blood testing again. I’ve done like three this week! I’ll have none left soon.”

 

Hunk chuckles from behind.

 

“Lance, it’s literally a few drops, it won’t take long.”

 

Lance huffs and doesn’t reply. The whole point of credentials being a chip within your body is to enable a quick pass through of all checkpoints, but occasionally they do additional blood scans. However, Hunk is correct as soon it’s his turn, and he’s beckoned through the archway. The droid is at least partly mammal, although Galra or human Lance cannot tell, the voice forming from actual vocal cord rather than a metallic generator.

 

“Name, Division, and purpose of visit.”

 

“Lance McClain, Cultivation, I live here,” he recites as he walks through.

 

The archway does nothing, and this time there is no sound or indication of whether he’s accepted or not. But when he’s not instantly taken out by the waiting soldier, it’s obvious all is as it should be.

 

“Left hand,” the droid remarks, tone bored.

 

Lance complies, and the droid presses a familiar dark purple wand to his thumb. It stings as the skin is pierced, the droid removing it quickly. The wand glows lilac, and he’s waved through. Lance sucks on his skin, familiar burn and tang of blood in his mouth as he waits for Hunk to go through the same treatment. His mind wanders and he feels himself still calculating what could be off at the farm, if anything has changed recently…

 

“Earth to Lance? You there buddy?”

 

Lance snaps out of it to see Hunk waving his unmarked hand close to him face. He grins, shaking his head.

 

“Yeah man, sorry. Come on, let’s go find the gremlin, I’m starving.”

 

With that, they make their way through another perfectly sculpted tunnel of metal before they set foot into Central Point.

 

It’s a blast of sensory overload, an abrupt change from the mundane of polished steel to the neon fuchsia and violets that mark the Galran visited or inhabited areas, not seen on the outer edges where Lance and Hunk spend most of their day. Centre Point is not actually that large; at least there aren’t many areas open to humans. It is apparently the direct Centre of Enclosure Two, and as such a sort of Capital. All the Galran areas spiral out from here, but the part nearest the shuttle is reserved for humans, a fairly new development. But they were running out of space, so fifteen years ago this area was created.

 

At the end of the ramp leading from the shuttle gateway, as they make their way into the entrance of Centre Point, Lance can see no walls at all. If he lets his mind drift, he could imagine this vastness continues, on and on into infinity, sprawling as far as anyone could be bothered to build.

 

A world without walls. A miracle, and an impossible dream.

 

It’s darker here. The whole area is made from some type of obsidian crystal that allows light to reflect easily despite the deepness of its original colour, only the Galra have a perchance for shadows and purples so it’s dimly lit by nature. Hunk and Lance walk across a bridge lined with lighting tubes both on the floor and at the top of the railing, making their way towards the first of a series of huge towers built in rows of two, where most of the humans spend their time. Another archway is their greeting as they step off the bridge, this one beeping as they walk through. Yet another checkpoint.

 

Each tower stands fifty stories high, one door leading in, a droid sentry guarding as they do most entrances. The first tower on the left, which Hunk and Lance walk towards, contains restaurants, bars and entertainment areas. The right accommodation, which is where they live. Of the eight towers, two are reserved for entertainment, four are accommodation and two at the rear are offices primarily used by Galra and a few humans.

 

A top of each tower sits a scrolling banner of information in neon purple, firstly in Galran, then descending into human languages, Lance catching the tail end of English into Spanish as they walk by. And hovering over the banner are two giant holoscreens. They currently display news, nothing out of the ordinary; the Galra host with a long, white braid flashing his pristine fangs as he praises the latest news of plans by Zarkon to help restore Earth, little by little. Recently the first new patch of rainforest has reached its infancy somewhere near Enclosure 1, meaning an Exploration will be sent in a few weeks. Lance has heard this news story everyday since it broke, so tunes it out as it reaches his ears.

 

A pathway does lead through the middle between the two rows of towers but it’s barely lit and empty. If going to the other towers behind the first two, humans are directed into tunnels on either side, transparent glass framing them and lit with purple tubing, droids at the entrance and exits.

 

Lance has never seen anyone enter through the middle, reserved only for those who work in official government positions, mainly Galra. For behind the towers Centre Point continues to the Galran areas, where only a few humans have ever been. So mostly it stays empty and unused. Galra do not have to use shuttles to get around, and unless taking the high up roles of managers and supervisors, do not work in any outskirt Divisions.

 

The droid may scan them before they enter the tower, it’s hard to tell and neither feels or notices anything, as they pass without comment and enter. The lobby is bare, apart from another couple waiting for the elevator, whom Lance and Hunk join. The four smile pleasantly but keep silent as the lift arrives, and they all enter, predictably all going to level ten.

 

Lance’s handheld vibrates, and he clicks his tongue at Pidge’s impatient message. He doesn’t bother replying seeing as they are so close, and the lift smoothly halts before they step out.

 

The bar is busy, noise and warmth of other humans reaching Lance immediately. He smiles to himself as they weave through, passing serving droids who robotically move out of the way as they sense movement.

 

It is still dim, but the lighting here is burnt orange in it’s glow, cast by the tiny old fashioned lamps placed on each table. The bar is decorated in ‘human’ style; or what the Galra claim the remnants of the world was like when they arrived. The tables and bar are lacquered cherry wood, and the walls and ceiling are covered in pieces of old apparatus the world no longer has a use for: a bicycle with a white frame, paint peeling if you look closely, a huge bird cage hanging from the ceiling, stand for the bird still in place and a string of small electric multicolored lights, bulbs flickering as they try and cope with modern light sources.

 

This place always feels like home, one of the few areas he feels at ease, an ease he cannot explain. A place to forget, a place to be and exist, where walls are not so obvious. The relics of the time before don’t bother Lance, he only knows their names due to listening to the stories of his grandparents, given to them by their parents. It’s nice there is a place, even if it is some sort of museum of mockery, that does have a bit of the world before.

 

A place where, if you pretend just a little, it feels like there are no Galra.

 

Pidge is by a window on the left hand side, typing frantically while sipping some sort of high glassed bright green concoction that smokes a little. Lance eyes it warily as they approach, certain the drink did not start out that colour or with additional smoke.

 

“You’re late,” Pidge says as the two join.

 

“Blood checking at the station,” Lance says and they look up, large glasses reflecting the glare of the code they’re writing. Or reading. Lance certainly cannot tell.

 

“Again? Odd. Very odd.”

 

Lance snorts, “Yeah, today is odd. Between Hunk’s extra shifts and my lack of growing grain, it’s odd all round.”

 

Lance is expecting a round of general work complaints, wallowing in a few of their joined sorrows of the daily grind over drinks; just the average evening. He is not expecting the look which Pidge gives him; something that sits uncomfortably between suspicion and nerves.

 

“What’s happening to your grain?”

 

He grimaces, but knows there’s no point in fighting once Pidge has a hook in an idea. Hunk slaps his shoulder and stands.

 

“I’ll get this round.”

 

“Thanks, buddy!,” Lance says at his retreating back, before groaning and digging out his own battered screen from his bag.

 

Technically, Pidge shouldn’t be seeing his charts. Most Divisions pride themselves in the trade secrets of their work, but Lance is realist. He doesn’t know the actual secret of his work: what chemicals make up the soil, the fertiliser, the rain. It’s just his role to monitor, adjust what’s given and meet quotas. The same way that Hunk knows how to make meals but doesn’t know the vitamins and minerals added, or that Pidge disburses information but isn’t party to the sources.

 

He thinks, anyway. Knowing Pidge, they could have every source on tap.

 

“The growth rate is slowing. It’s most likely rainfall, but the last batch had no issues.”

 

He pulls up the comparison data, Pidge humming in approval. Hunk arrives with drinks a moment later, and peers around Lance’s other side as he continues.

 

“If we adjust the timings in three days, we may see new growth. It certainly won’t cause problems if you look at these charts. But why this is so different, I can’t tell. And I really don’t want to talk to Varkon if I can help it,” Lance says darkly, mentioning the name of his supervisor under his breath.

 

“What’s this?” Pidge says, pointing to a line on the list of requirements in place for growing grain.

 

“Fertiliser,” Lance replies.

 

Pidge points at another chart on the screen the screen, Lance and Hunk moving forward to squint at it.

 

“Look at the code, it’s one number different. Same name, but they’ve changed something about it. It’s not on the last crop, so that’s probably your answer.”

 

Lance grins grabbing Pidge in a one armed hug before they could protest too much.

 

“My favourite genius! Dealing with Varkon will be worth it for this. Don’t want to have to deal with him if we don’t reach quota, even if it’s due to them changing up the fertiliser. Seriously, why is it just a stream of numbers?” he says, frustration leaking in over the elation as he starts up an email.

 

“Because, they don’t want you to notice,” Pidge says, voice just above a whisper. Lance pauses in his typing, sharing a look with Hunk.

 

“Have you heard from Matt and your dad?” Hunk says, words pitched in the perfect tone of comfort and sympathy.

 

Pidge nods, “Yes. It’s the same text. They’re fine, just delayed on their return home. They miss me. But I know something’s wrong, I can just feel it!”

 

Lance finishes sending the email, then puts his screen away, scooting closer.

 

“I’m sure they’re fine. Maybe they just can’t say what the hold up is? Possibility of the message being intercepted? They are part of an alliance Exploration crew, they probably have some Galra diplomat demanding all messages be censored. That happened once before, right?”

 

Pidge cheers noticeably at that, but there’s still an air to them which causes Lance’s heart to ache. The problem is, sometimes things like this do happen. Sometimes, people stop talking, answering messages and you don’t see them for a while.

 

Sometimes, they vanish altogether. But it’s best not to realise it’s happened.

 

Pidge is practically a younger sibling to Lance at this point, so he does what all big brothers do when their siblings are sad: distracts them.

 

“Did I tell you guys Rolo fell over a hoe on Monday?”

 

The gleam in Pidge’s eyes is suddenly back in full force.

 

* * *

 

 

As well as the rain, Lance loves the ocean. Perhaps in another life he was a water spirit, or some aquatic animal. Or perhaps it’s just a permanent fascination with phenomenon they no longer have.

 

Lance has never seen an ocean. There are no oceans, not anymore. The closest they have is a reservoir which serves most of the crops in their section. It’s a huge body of water, almost completely still and perfectly blue, lapping ever so quietly at it’s barriers. To Lance though it is an ocean; it’s what he calls it in his head anyway.

 

Lance stares at the few tiny ripples as the water moves; back, forward, repeat. If he closes his eyes, he can amplify it, imagine it’s a real wave, white foam covering the tips, crashing into the walls, soaking him with it’s spray.

 

Lance has a photo of the ocean framed and placed on the wall of his tiny room in their tiny apartment. In the image, the water is murky, the sky above interspersed with clouds which break up the blueness. The waves are cresting towards the photographer, three of them tumbling together, bubbles clear, the cut of them seemingly random and without direction. He stares at it each night before sleeping, wonders at how it would feel to be the person behind the camera.

 

It was given to him by his grandmother when he was twelve, a birthday present. She kept the heirlooms passed down by her parents, random things they’d brought with them as children when the Galra set up the three Enclosures which encased the small remaining population of Earth, after humanity’s reckless ideas had left it at the brink of collapse.

 

His grandmother told them stories from a stack of old real books, one of the highlights of his childhood. Lance always loved the stories about pirates best, imagining night after night the feel of being supported by so much moving water, being at the mercy and whim of nature.

 

Perhaps that is what he yearns for; something that isn’t perfectly timed, controlled, practiced and perfected. Something flawed and therefore real.

 

More like him. More human.

 

But when he opens his eyes, it is still the same uniform blue, the same gentle movement. He sighs and heads back to the shuttle, travelling the two stops to work and begins his shift. He’s only there thirty minutes when the tell tale sound of a hovercraft approaching reaches him. Lance groans to himself, but ceases weeding as he’s called over by a familiar figure.

 

“Varkon! Your presence always brightens my day,” he says, his most charming smile in place.

 

Varkon doesn’t even smile though, just glares down at Lance, not even bothering to step out of the craft. Lance blinks, smile still in place, not backing down from the stare off. The Galra growls, then thrusts a data chip towards Lance.

 

He takes it, scans it with his handheld then frowns as a date, time and set of coordinates appear, along with the same stream of numbers Pidge identified as fertiliser and another set beside it.

 

“Annnd this is?”

 

Varkon then grins, all teeth and glee, causing Lance to step back. It was not a look that gives any sort of comfort.

 

“Today’s assignment. Looks like you identified a potential issue with the fertiliser for this section, so they’re sending you to check the ratios of the minerals are correct.”

 

Lance grimaces. Great, what a fun way to spend his morning.

 

To his surprise, Varkon moves over in his vehicle, still grinning all the while.

 

“Oh, and the tanker is set Outside. Your credentials have been updated, and I’ll be dropping you off at the exit.”

 

“Wait Outside. As in, Outside, Outside?”

 

Varkon nods, his smile now understandable as Lance clambers into the hovercraft, the two speeding away. In the silence that follows, both resolutely pretending the other does not exist, Lance tries to keep his hands from shaking, pulling out his hand held and sending quick messages to Pidge and Hunk to distract himself.

 

Outside. Lance can count the amount of times he’s left the safety of the Enclosure on one hand: once as a child, on the enforced school trip to show them the true consequences of human actions, once as a student when he was part of the short lived Garrison programme for the Explorer Division, and once two years ago to help fix a valve preventing the water supply from working correctly.

 

His job means he rarely needs to go Outside, and although when he was younger his flare for adventure had given him much curiosity, that had faded with adulthood and the knowledge of just how easily you can die from being out there.

 

It’s not a long drive, and his phone chimes with messages from his friends just as they reach the exit portal. Hunk’s is a flurry of concern and warnings, from the obvious to the bizarre (what is a scorpion and why is Hunk worried about it?!). Pidge is demanding photos even though they know that’s impossible, as well as demanding Lance wear exactly what they tell him, and watch his step. His nerves settle a little from the care in his friend’s words, but as he steps out, Varkon leaving without a word, they return.

 

The exit portal is heavily guarded. It’s situated in one of the further areas of Cultivation, on the border with their food stores, so no crops are in the vicinity. It’s simply a guard post with dulled grey metal doors, droids with guns on show standing in the way, while a Galra officer sits at what looks like a desk before the doors.

 

As Lance approaches, they nod.

 

“Lance McClain? Credentials.”

 

Lance holds out his hand, and a metallic screen is placed over it. They can’t have many entering and leaving this area if they know his name. The screen beeps and the sentry nods.

 

“Suits are on the left as you enter. Make sure you’re secured, the suit will tell you once it’s on. Your coordinates are loaded into the hovercraft screen, which is located just as you step outside. You need to leave all belongings here, except the data stick which you will use to download and transfer the readings on the fertiliser container. Your destination is a fifteen minute drive. If you are gone more than two hours, you are considered a traitor unless a distress signal is sent. The button is on the neck of your suit. Remember, contamination of the Outside world will leave you dead within three minutes.”

 

Lance can feel himself start to sweat, even though he knows those rules already. It’s a little different when they apply to your direct actions.

 

“Yup, got it. Dead after three minutes, back in two hours,” he says, words slipping out rapidly and falling into a jumble of syllables.

 

He gives over his handheld and then he’s nodded through without further comment, the huge metal doors rumbling open to reveal a small square space, the only border between him and the broken outside world. Lance gulps as the doors slam shut behind him, immediately flurrying to retrieve a protective suit, tripping over his own feet in the process.

 

It fits on over his clothes, but he replaces his shoes with the boots provided. It’s rather like a flight suit but a little looser, colour a muted grey which reminds him of the droids. A plain helmet with a visor is also provided, which he affixes to the collar of the suit once he’s finished.

 

“Vitals steady. Suit functioning at 100%.”

 

“Thanks for that,” Lance says to himself, not entirely sure what he would have done if it had not been functioning at 100%.

 

A moment later and the second set of doors open, a gust of wind breaking free as it does. Lance braces as the suit takes the hit, inhaling himself steady as he walks a few paces forward onto the metal ramp and then the sand.

 

Onto Earth. His mangled and bleeding planet.

 

He has to squint against the real, full blast of the sun and the swirling remnants of sand which batter against his helmet. He’s always shocked at how bright the world is even dimmed by a protective helmet, used to artificial lights his entire life which are poor imitations of an actual sun.

 

The rest of the world is golden orange; desert as far as the eye can see, only marred by the huge Galra structures, their world looking tiny in this vast nothingness. Lance turns slowly, taking it all in. Just sand, dunes and metal, nothing more, no sign of a world recovering by itself. Lance sighs, a faint bubble of unhappiness floating up. He’s not sure what he expected, but actually being in the desert for the first time in two years is a savage reminder of the harsh, inhospitable state of his planet.

 

He makes his way to the hovercraft, already a fine layer of sand covering the controls, but he can’t be sure how long it’s been awaiting him. He checks the coordinates and sets off, driving parallel to the Enclosure which is his home on his right, endless desert on his left. He wonders what it’s like in the other two Enclosures, located in the only other remotely viable areas of the planet; if their scenery is any different. For there is really nothing to see here, so he’s glad when the time passes and he veers off slightly deeper into the desert, following the coordinates to where the fertiliser stores are.

 

Why they are out here, he does not know, doesn’t really want to know. But, as he approaches a row of four square metal boxes, he can’t help but question why they are so separate from the rest of the equipment. He concludes that, if this is a new mix, perhaps they don’t have space in the usual storage. It does as a consoling thought as he parks up and jumps down.

 

He turns and is struck breathless for a moment. He wishes he did have his handheld, could take that photo for Pidge. It’s endless shimmering gold, just swirling sand and dunes rising and falling for miles, hues they never seen inside, colours he doesn’t have a language for.  The sky is clear apart from the scorching sun, blasting what Lance assumes is an incredible heat. The suit thankfully regulates temperature, otherwise he isn’t sure if he could stand it, judging by the brightness of the light.

 

Mental photo taken, he goes back to his assignment.

 

“Number 3,” he mutters, trudging over to the correct metal box.

 

The stats are displayed outside as part of the control panel, so all he needs to do is ensure they match what he’s been given. He’s almost disappointed when they do.

 

“So what exactly is wrong?” he mutters to himself as he plugs in the data chip, the readings copied over and sent back to whoever gets their work assignments, signaling this is a job complete. By this point, the novelty of being Outside is starting to lose its charm. It’s so silent out here, no people, no generators, no machinery. Lance isn’t used to such a vacuum of noise, and it makes his skin itch.

 

It also lets him hear the approach of the other hovercraft quickly.

 

Lance spins as the telltale whir of engines catches his ear from behind. Expecting to see another craft similar to his, he’s a little surprised to see something garishly red approaching at high speed. He gulps, and runs for his own craft, heart hammering in his chest. The Galra don’t have red hovercrafts, they don’t have red anything. So whoever is approaching isn’t a standard Explorer or official. It’s someone else.

 

Unfortunately, the suit isn’t meant for running, and sand is harder to balance on than he thought. With the hovercraft travelling at such a pace, Lance just about reaches his again when the red craft lands only a few feet away from him. Lance steps as far away as he can, back against the craft, hand moving to the distress button on his helmet.

 

He doesn’t know what to do. He has no weapon, no plan and no idea who could be flying this machine. All he has a distress signal, which quite frankly he doesn’t believe will call anyone to help him.

 

It’s just as he tries to remember every move his brother used on his as a child that the person on the craft stands. For they are a person, most undoubtedly human.

 

And they are not wearing a suit.

 

Or a helmet for that matter. Only goggles and a breathing mask over their mouth, dressed overwise in casual clothes of a red and white jacket and dark trousers. They remove the goggles as they look down towards Lance, a gloved hand coming to pull the strap off the back of their head, their messy long black hair ruffled-

 

Wait. The hair. _That’s a mullet_.

 

And Lance gasps inside the helmet, mouth drying and heart spinning somersaults as he _knows_ that mullet. He’d recognise it anywhere, although now it’s somewhat different. He stared at it in class everyday for two years, watched it vanish inside flight suit helmets and once even managed to fleetingly touch the strands during a self defense class he still remembers to this day.

 

For that mullet belongs to his greatest rival. His long-time competition. The boy he’d had a crush on for two years straight and no idea what to do about it until it was too late, and he was crying into his dorm pillow, Hunk and Pidge by his side.

 

It belongs to Keith Kogane who died five years ago.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Take off your helmet.” 
> 
> “What?” Lance says, snapping back to the situation, Keith’s gaze now resolute. Lance splutters, heart rate spiking once again, this time from panic. 
> 
> “I can’t, I’ll die! What the hell dude, it’s quicker to stab me...wait no, please don’t stab me-” 
> 
> “You won’t die, it’s safe. Most you’ll get is a bad cough if you have it off for more than an hour. Two minutes will do nothing to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your support of chapter 1! Lovely to have you all joining me with this :) 
> 
> WARNING: some mild gore/body horror in this chapter. Please take care of yourselves when reading. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_Number five is afraid of his own shadow, but will run through the dark if persuaded rightly. Caution is necessary, but it does not wish for that now. It is persuasive though, and fear can be driven to positives. It knows this well._

 

_Number four wants so much, worries so deeply, works so hard, loves so fiercely.  It wonders how he has not asphyxiated in his torrent of human emotion. He has so much potential in so many directions but it knows he will take molding._

 

_Number three is full of curiosity and calculation which part of it yearns for. But they are so single minded, too much concerned with small pieces of the self to see what else is crucial. It needs one who can see bigger things, to be a small part of the whole._

 

_Number two is wild and coiled to explode; which it wants, it needs, it craves. But can he be tamed and shaped? Is it too late to use him for any means other than a single flare of the spectacular?_

 

_Number one is compromised. Yet, it is the same. Picked apart and turned inside out by the Galra, it knows his pain like no other. It should be able to reset him enough to make him whole. If not though, he will destroy them all._

 

_These humans are all so wrong and dispensable, it can barely believe it is considering them, has fallen to this level. And yet...they are it’s only hope. It needs them to live. And, although they are not aware, they will soon need it to live as well._

 

_Therefore, it now must begin. And as it sharpens itself against the final barriers which dare to keep it at bay, it sees the way their lines intersect and knows. Number 4 and number 2. Their paths will cross, and that will be it’s signal. Although they are another unstable probability to add against these fragile beings from Earth. However, it no longer matters._

 

_It must become Voltron once again._

 

_And only these mortals resonate enough to make it happen. So it will use every inch of them to do so._

 

* * *

  


It takes less than a second after Lance’s realisation of who Keith is for him to attack. While Lance’s brain catches up with the realisation his teenage crush is both not dead and standing right before him in the wasteland of Outside, Keith launches himself off the vehicle, speeds at Lance and pulls a wicked knife from seemingly nowhere and aims it at Lance’s jugular. 

 

Lance’s body decides at that point to leave his mind to flailing and take action. He blocks the knife attack on instinct, years of training from his teenage hood rushing to the surface. But Keith takes it in his stride, twisting his arm in a move that seems entirely improbable, and knocks Lance down with a well placed kick to his side. 

 

The impact is dulled by the suit, but Lance yelps as he hits the ground, his arms coming up to block just seconds before Keith is upon him, knife at the ready. It’s then finally his brain catches up and remembers the suit has a speaker function. 

 

“Keith! Keith wait stop, I’m unarmed!”

 

Keith freezes, Lance’s arms pinned with one hand, knife in the other hovering over him. He glares down and Lance can see his mask is flaring with each breath, a soft purple glow emanating. It’s not like anything Lance has seen before, but the style indicates Galran technology. He can’t help but wonder where Keith got it. 

 

“How do you know me?” 

 

It’s an order, not a request and Lance swallows. 

 

“My name’s Lance. We were in the Garrison together?” he says, but the knife just comes closer. 

 

“I don’t know a Lance,” he says, pressing harder to where Lance is pinned to the desert floor. 

 

Lance knows he’s at crossroads here, that at any moment Keith could decide to use the blade, rip through the suit and stain the sand red. Yet he hasn’t so far, and perhaps that combined with the giddiness of having his life on the line makes Lance focus far too much on the fact that Keith does not remember him. 

 

“Seriously!? We had nearly all our classes together final year! I was in your group for the flight exam, there were only four people in that group!” 

 

It comes out whiny and at any other time he’d be cursing himself for sounding so ridiculous but it does seem to do the trick, for Keith stops pressing down so hard. 

 

“Oh yeah...didn’t you crash out of your first simulation test?” 

 

Lance feels himself blushing, even though that happened when he was seventeen. He’s immensely glad for his helmet at this moment. 

 

“I’ll have you know I finished top of the class! Or would have done if they hadn’t disbanded it after...you died. Except you didn’t, apparently.” 

 

Lance’s voice trails off, wondering if that was perhaps taking it too far, but Keith doesn’t seem fazed. He’s giving Lance a calculated look, something brimming behind those violet eyes which has Lance’s nerves engaging, wishing he could back away. 

 

He’s suddenly hyper aware of their positions; him splayed down and caught by Keith’s grip, pinned to the ground by his knees and hands. Instantly, his heart rate increases, his vitals on the monitor warning him of this, his breathing shallow. 

 

It takes all of his mental energy to stop his thoughts diverting in entirely the wrong direction. 

 

“Take off your helmet.” 

 

“What?” Lance says, snapping back to the situation, Keith’s gaze now resolute. Lance splutters, heart rate spiking once again, this time from panic. 

 

“I can’t, I’ll die! What the hell dude, it’s quicker to stab me...wait no, please don’t stab me-” 

 

“You won’t die, it’s safe. Most you’ll get is a bad cough if you have it off for more than an hour. Two minutes will do nothing to you.” 

 

Lance pauses, absorbing that. Everyone knows the Outside world is toxic. You need the protective gear, and you need to be back within two hours unless you have specialised equipment, which most humans never get access to. It’s why it takes so long for any expansion, why all Explorer teams have years of training simply to leave the Enclosure, let alone go anywhere else. The planet is dangerous, so dangerous it destroys its own lifeforms. 

 

Yet Keith isn’t wearing a protective suit. Just a mask and fingerless gloves that seem more like a (misguided) fashion statement than for practical usage. 

 

“I promise, it’s safe. If I was going to kill you, it would be by the knife,” Keith says. 

 

His voice isn’t quite soft, but it’s lowered with a sound to it which rings true to Lance’s memory, something that inspires a little trust or enough to persuade him over. 

 

Lance realises he also has little choice. He is, he hates to admit, overwhelmed here. The suit is not meant for combat and Keith fights like he’s been training for it in the last five years, while Lance has left his sparring days behind with the termination of the Garrison programme. So, with shaking hands, he releases the clasps on either side of his helmet and gently tugs it up. 

 

An alarm rings as it does. He pauses, muscles locking out, but Keith shakes his head. 

 

“Don’t worry, it’s not connected to anything.” 

 

This is hardly comforting but considering he’s come this far, he may as well continue. He can’t help but inhale deeply once then, deciding to get it over and done with, he pulls the helmet off in one swooping motion. 

 

It’s bright. So bright he hisses in the glare of the sun, eyes utterly unused to anything so glaring and warm. His assessment when he first stepped Outside was correct; it is hot under the sun but the wind cools it more than he would have guessed. It still feels overwhelming though, his skin unaccustomed to natural light this severe, or at least not through protective glass. 

 

Suddenly the pressure lessens from his arms, and he throws them over to cover his eyes, the instant shade helping somewhat. He doesn’t feel Keith remove himself from his legs but he must do, for the next instant there’s a voice by his ear. 

 

“Come on, let’s get to the shade.” 

 

Then, he’s being dragged by his armpits, forced into standing slowly. He slips a little as Keith hauls him up, then he’s stumbling over his feet as Keith drags him over to what he assumes is the far side of sheds. There’s a sudden coolness and the hand on his arm vanishes. 

 

“There. You should be able to see better here,” Keith says, his voice still in that calm timbre, yet cool and unmoved without real emotion. Lance isn’t sure how he’s perfected that distance, as it sends something uncomfortable springing through him. But he pushes it down and focuses on slowly cracking open his eyes. 

 

This time, the glare is muted and he finds it far easier to look around. It does take a few minutes; Lance slowly blinking away moisture and allowing his eyes to adjust to a different type of light. But he does adapt, faster than he would’ve expected.

 

Everything is sharper. The sand more orange, the shadows deep and dark, the chrome of the boxes glistening in a way that he could never have seen through the haze of the helmet's visor. It’s as his eyes clear he realises he is _breathing_. He inhales deeply, filling his lungs and it’s an entirely new sensation. Even the air feels warm as it’s drawn through his throat, tastes like being the first person awake as morning arrives, like it’s new and just waiting to be filled with possibilities. 

 

There’s a snort from his right and Lance turns to see Keith leaning casually against the box, arms crossed and one foot up. His mask is now dangling from one arm, the light no longer to be seen. 

 

Lance blinks, taking him in. He’s taller than Lance remembers, broader too, but his face is gaunt, midnight bruises forming under both eyes. His hair is also different, and now the mask is off he can see that the mullet style is still in place but that’s only the top layers of his hair. The rest is pulled into a messy braid that hangs down just below his right shoulder. 

 

Lance gulps. He’s come to terms with being bi, with the heartache of his teen crush dying and his two year relationship with his ex crumbling to pieces thirteen months ago. 

 

He is not going to accept being attracted to terrible hairstyles. 

 

“Yeah, it feels different being out in the real world,” Keith comments dryly, smirk in place as he looks up partly through a fallen slice of hair. Lance swallows and places his hands on his hips, gesturing to Keith. 

 

“Is that why you wanted me to take it off? So I could breath in authentic air?” he says. 

 

“No, I wanted to check you were telling the truth,” he says before pushing off from the box and wandering past Lance. 

 

Lance stares at his retreating back as Keith fetches Lance’s helmet. _Does that mean he remembers me?_ Lance thinks, but quickly shakes his head. He’s not seventeen anymore, he shouldn’t be obsessing over whether or not Keith Kogane knows his name. 

 

Keith returns Lance’s helmet, shoving it none too gentle into his hands. 

 

“So, why are you out here?” Keith questions, standing before him. Lance raises an eyebrow. 

 

“Isn’t that my line? And oh, along with so, _why are you not dead?”_  

 

Keith isn’t moved by Lance’s sarcasm, the flint in his eyes reminding Lance far too much of his blade. He sighs, then gestures to the control panel closest to them with his helmet. 

 

“Checking the level,” he says morosely. 

 

However, Keith’s eyes seem to ignite from that and he turns to Lance swiftly. 

 

“And?”

 

Lance takes a step back, stunned at the new intensity from him. It reminds him of the Keith he knew many years ago, arguing back against their teachers when he knew more than they claimed to. 

 

“Nothing’s off. Or at least, not in the readings. Why, man? What are you doing here?” 

 

The wildness in Keith’s eyes does not die; if anything he draws closer, so Lance can see the way the hues and tones practically sparkle in the real-world light, all deep blues and muted browns that lead to the purple he knows so well. 

 

“But why did you think that? Why did they send you out here?” 

 

Lance has had enough though. He knocks Keith backward with a push of his helmet and backs away, heading towards his hovercraft. 

 

“Look man, I’m not telling you anything. You come back from the dead, threaten me with a knife and tell me I can breathe out here when all my life I’ve been told otherwise and then expect me to answer all your questions? No, hell no. I want nothing to do with this. I’m out.” 

 

He half means the last phrase, half doesn’t. The underlying fear which has been coursing through has surfaced: he doesn’t know Keith. He’s been clinging to the image of the person he knew back in the Garrison, but this is not the man here now. If it is Keith at all. 

 

Lance isn’t an idiot, he knows the iron control of the Galra is riddled with secrets but this? This is a lot bigger than him, a lot bigger than he’s ready to get mixed up in. At least, not until he knows anything more and Keith is hardly forthcoming. 

 

He fixes his helmet and swings up on to the craft. He checks the time, blinking when he notices how much has vanished, mildly cursing Keith under his breath. He’ll still make it back in plenty of time, but if he ends up having to explain why there’s such a gap between sending the data and returning, he’s in trouble. 

 

“Lance!”

 

He turns at Keith’s shout, watching him run forward. Keith slows to a walk, flicking his hair out of his face with a huff, braid no longer visible. 

 

“Look it’s just...better if you don’t know. Which isn’t helpful, I get it. But you have a life to go back to and you should. Knowing more about me won’t help you do that.” 

 

Lance waits, not sure where this is going, as Keith seems to gather himself, looking awkward and unsure for the first time since he arrived. 

 

“Don’t tell them about this. About me. Not really for me, but for you. They can’t know you know I’m alive.” 

 

A strange set of words, and most certainly not what he was expecting to hear. He was anticipating being asked not to tell anyone, but Keith seems completely unconcerned about his own existence. 

 

“Okay...I wasn’t planning on it anyway,” he says, not really sure how they should part. 

 

Lance is itching to get back inside, back into where things may be wrong but at least they make sense. This Outside where he can breathe and Keith is alive isn’t as great as it sounds on paper. 

 

Keith gives him a small half smile, then pauses as if about to say something more. Lance finds himself baited, awaiting any sort of further indication of a connection, something else recalled of their time together in the past. 

 

But there’s nothing. Keith just turns away, braid swinging slightly in the breeze. Lance’s chest lurches uncomfortably and before he can stop them the words are winging their way towards Keith unbidden. 

 

“It’s the plants,” he says, his voice rising in the wind. 

 

Keith halts and twists, just his upper body turning to face Lance, questions filling his eyes. 

 

“Crops aren’t growing as they used to. And I can’t figure out why. Thought it was a new fertiliser.” 

 

Then Keith, framed by a lowering sun, pale skin and dark hair whipping around him _smiles_. Full and deep, all challenge and racing, the eighteen year old who Lance chased around in class with his heart and mind, always trying to reach him, to be seen by him. 

 

It’s heart stopping. And breaking. 

 

Lance drops down, averts his eyes and starts the engine. He turns back towards home as quickly as possible, not looking back no matter how much he wants to. 

 

* * *

 

“These checks are ridiculous,” Lance says in greeting when he enters their small apartment, dropping himself onto the sofa. 

 

From the other side of the room surrounded by screens Pidge looks up, blinking three times. 

 

“What are you doing home?” they say, not responding to Lance’s statement. 

 

Wordlessly, Lance points to the time displayed on the screen above the doorway; standard issue in each home, ensuring all citizens are on the same time. Pidge blinks twice, then swears venomously. 

 

Lance rolls his eyes. This is typical, Pidge losing track of time while they work on...whatever it is they do. Their job involves keeping an eye on things Lance does not even have to contemplate, but having known Pidge for so many years, he is certain they spend much of their time looking beyond their reach. 

 

Pidge’s official role is in Communications, delivering messages to all departments across the Enclosure. Lance doesn’t know what specific departments they monitor, is sure Pidge would say if asked, but he’s not meant to ask so never has. 

 

After a day like today though, he’s wondering if perhaps he should ask more questions. Or if being in the dark is actually better. 

 

“Gimme five, and I’ll be with you,” Pidge mutters, turning back to their screens, fingers racing across. Lance just smiles to himself, knowing until they’re done there is no point in trying to communicate. 

 

He feels unease sweep in as the silence descends. All day, he’s been waiting for someone to call him out over his meeting with Keith. But so far, nothing’s happened. They took the data stick without comment, barely looked at him as they told him to go back to work. Lance spent the rest of his shift looking over his shoulder, expecting to see a Galra guard arrive, to take him away and demand he tell them everything. Yet none of his imaginings came true, the day was as average and perfectly timed as ever. 

 

Except the checks. Blood again, and longer lines, more sentries at each entrance. Almost as if they are looking for something.

 

_They can’t know you know I’m alive._

 

Lance shivers, although there is no change in the perfectly balanced temperature. That phrase haunts his every move and thought. But Keith does not seem concerned with them finding or looking for him, which surprises Lance even more. So Lance can only assume they aren’t actively searching for him, but of course would turn him in if caught, hence why he charged at Lance initially. 

 

“Okay, I’m done. What did you say about checks?” 

 

Lance starts as Pidge looms over him, screens now stowed away. He straightens and they come to sit with him, curling up on the other side of the couch. 

 

“Just that they’re upping them again. They took my blood, I’ve had that most days this week and it used to only be every few months.” 

 

Pidge’s brow furrows. “Like they’re looking for something,” they mutter, an echo of Lance’s previous thought. 

 

Lance feels his heart rate spike, memories of the day returning. It’s on the edge of his tongue to say something, spill his fear and confusion when Pidge marches back over to their screens. 

 

“There was an alert that went out today. A stream of numbers, but it went to all gateways, deliberately just sent to automaton sentries. Plus a curfew has been put in effect for humans working in Technical and Medical; I had to distribute both messages today.” 

 

Lance slowly stands, making his way to the table and sitting opposite Pidge as they tap away. 

 

“That’s a weird combination. A disease would make sense for Medical if something’s going around, but Technical too? Robots can’t get colds,” Lance says, trying to add some humour into the rapidly deteriorating mood. Pidge just glares at him though. 

 

“Most humans in Technical do grunt work, like creating spare parts for the Enclosure, maintaining screens and maybe sentries, but only the fully automated ones and definitely none of the ones with weapons,” Pidge says. 

 

Lance is about to snap back that yes he’s aware of what each of the different departments do, when the door opens and Hunk appears, looking exhausted. 

 

“Hey, bud,” Lance says, while Pidge waves in greeting.

 

“Hey guys. I got stuck for almost an hour just trying to get back in here, they were taking blood from everyone. It’s so weird, I’ve never seen them checking so much,” he says, making his way to sit with them at the table. 

 

Pidge and Lance exchange a look, before Pidge fills Hunk in on their previous discussion. He sits back, digesting the information for a moment, the others watching him. 

 

“Perhaps something to do with medical equipment? Although I’m not sure how much humans are involved with that,” he says, voice tinged with thought. 

 

“Hmm, that’s a good guess,” Pidge says, returning to their screen. 

 

“Should you really be looking into it?” Hunk says, worry clear on his face as Pidge continues to type away. 

 

“I’m not looking deep, just checking alerts to see if anything’s been said about medical equipment. I have access to all of this, completely legal,” Pidge replies with a wave of their hand. 

 

Lance raises his eyebrows at Hunk, for even if Pidge begins with something legal, there’s no guarantee they won’t follow that thread as far as it will take them. During their time in the Garrison, Pidge had been cautioned several times for asking too many questions and looking too deeply into certain things. It was probably why they were given over to Communications when the programme ended, something below their intelligence but a place they could be kept under a certain amount of surveillance. But still, they continued to test the limits. 

 

“Have you heard from Matt or your dad today?” Lance says, hoping for some good news in all of the confusion. 

 

Pidge sighs heavily. “Yeah. Same type of message. Maybe you are right, I think if something really was wrong I’d know about it by now. It just feels weird. I’m probably worrying too much though,” they say, shooting Lance a grateful smile as they do. 

 

Lance smiles back, happy at least that part is no longer pressing on Pidge’s mind. Her family are so far away, with her mother stationed on the other side of the Enclosure in Medical, meaning they aren’t able to visit too often. Lance wouldn’t be able to deal with that, knows he’s lucky to have his family close to him. 

 

“How did it go today, man? Did you figure out what was going on with the fertilizer levels?” Hunk says, turning to Lance. 

 

“Oh yeah, bet it was awesome being outside!” Pidge says, looking up and grinning, Hunk immediately asking for a complete update on all that happened. 

 

Lance hesitates again before replying. He has so much to tell them. That the air isn’t contaminated; that it tastes dry and heavy, sits on your tongue and makes it’s home there for a while. Yet it’s fills your lungs to the brim on a small inhale, all real; not recycled and filtered to apparent perfection. That the sun is a type of warmth he’s never felt before, beats on skin and tingles slightly and most of all it’s _light_. A new colour, casting new shades on all it touches. 

 

But he can’t.

 

“It was fine, I couldn’t see anything wrong with it,” he says, locking away the words he wishes he could tell them. 

 

“That’s weird, it was the only thing that made sense,” Pidge comments, looking up from their screens. 

 

Lance just shrugs, turning away to glance around the room. Hunk and Pidge are almost as close as his family, maybe even on par at this point. They know when he’s lying, and normally that wouldn’t be an issue, but Keith’s warning is still ringing in his ears and he just cannot risk anything. Although he’s pretty certain he would have been detained by now if it were truly an issue, he doesn’t want to risk either of his friends. 

 

He jolts back into the room when Pidge stands abruptly. 

 

“Let’s go out for dinner. I can’t stay in this room any longer,” they say, already moving towards the doorway. 

 

Lance laughs, happy to oblige and together the three make their way out of their apartment. It’s not unusually busy this evening, and Lance notices the announcement regarding the curfew is playing across the screens. It must have come in only recently, as he hadn’t seen it on his way home. 

 

There are checks to go into the bar tonight. Unsurprising considering the day. Already a queue has formed, and Lance groans as they join, leaning dramatically on Hunk while Pidge rolls their eyes fondly. 

 

As they get closer, Lance notices there are no sentries here, just Galra soldiers. Although they aren’t high ranking, it’s unusual to see only Galra here, when they normally prefer robots or humans to do this type of work. But as the line passes swiftly, Lance shrugs it off. It makes sense if there’s something happening on the other side of the Enclosure, and his encounter with Keith is starting to fade into a half formed memory. Could it actually have happened? It seems far fetched, even though it was only a few hours ago. Lance isn’t sure what he would prefer; for it to be real and to have the threat of discovery hanging over him, or for his mind to have broken in some way to have actually imagined the whole thing. 

 

Hunk nudges him forward and he’s first in line. As ever, the soldier boredly takes out the metal wand, and Lance holds out his hand. The sting sets in automatically and he lifts his thumb to his mouth, wondering for a second why it’s not full of scars at this point. 

 

Lance is thrown from his thoughts as the wand suddenly flashes cerulean. 

 

His hand falls from his mouth and he gapes. It’s never done that before, never shown any colour other than the muted violet. The soldier seems just as perplexed, but recovers faster than Lance for suddenly there is a blaster in his face. 

 

“Take him!” 

 

“What?!” Lance says, voice ringing out in fear as the two soldiers milling around near the entrance are on their feet and grabbing his arms, pinning them behind him. 

 

“Lance! Let go of him!” 

 

He hears Pidge yelling from behind and just manages to see Hunk and Pidge being pulled to the side before he’s dragged away, two soldiers marching him swiftly out of the shadow of building and past the queue of people waiting to enter; all staring in horror as he’s dragged away. 

 

Lance struggles. He knows it’s futile, can feel the strength of the Galra soldiers as they half drag half march him to the little used road between the two sets of buildings, but he cannot help it. He thrashes, almost trips and his ankles ache from the turning of his feet. 

 

“Where are you taking me? What was that blue light? I haven’t done anything!” he yells as they push through the barriers. 

 

They do not answer though, just simply continue on their way. Lance’s mind spins as they walk, knowing with all certainly that this is to do with Keith. They’ve finally figured out what happened this afternoon and despite not mentioning it, not saying a thing, they’ve come for him. Through the fear racing through his mind and heart, Lance is exceptionally glad he didn’t mention anything to Hunk and Pidge. At least his friends should be safe. 

 

About half way down the road, now deserted and free from any human presence, he notices a transporter. He’s only ever seen them from a distance; technology used by the Galra to transport them instantly from place by place, which they do not allow most humans the luxury of using. However, it seems Lance is being made an exception of, judging by the direction they’re going in. 

 

The transporter is a rectangular box, obsidian in colour, made to almost vanish into its surroundings. The inside is stained lilac and is completely empty, no seats or handles or any indication of how it works. Without ceremony, Lance is pushed before it, and the Galra on his left waves his hand at the glass. There must be some sort of recognition sensor on him, for the glass parts and with that, Lance is thrust forward, tripping over his own feet as he falls forward, palms slamming against the back of the wall to stop himself from falling. 

 

He spins instantly but the glass shuts before he even turns around. He crosses the two steps to it though and bangs his fist against it. 

 

“Where are you sending me?!” Lance screams, other hand moving to slam into the glass as he does. 

 

The Galra don’t respond, but the one on the right looks at him and grins. And there’s so much malice there, so much predatory anticipation in the gaze it has him stumbling away until his back hits the wall. 

 

Because he knows. He’s always known in the back of his mind, but it’s so hard to make it stand out when it’s always been his reality. But he knows it in the way his life is so perfectly controlled and manipulated, forming lines directed by the Galra. In the promises of the world getting better which funnel in every day but there is never talk of going outside. The way his grandmother just vanished one day, as did Hunk’s mother and Pidge’s uncle. In the way he knows to keep quiet, keep in line, not to disrupt no matter how much he may want to. 

 

The Galra are the hunters and humans are the prey. And they were caught a long time ago. 

 

He has no further time to do anything with this realisation before the lilac glow transforms into a stinging brightness. Lance yelps, his arm coming to cover his eyes as they burn with the infiltration, legs giving out as he slides down the wall. 

 

It lasts a few seconds and then it dims suddenly. Lance’s head is still aching, eyes filled with a chlorine burn but he has no time to ease himself back. He hears the door open again and not a second later he’s roughly grabbed, arms forced out to his slides and feet slipping as he’s hauled forward. 

 

Lance forces his eyes open as he moves, thankful that this place seems to be the usual fare of Galra dim purple lighting. 

 

However, his gladness is short lived. 

 

He’s moving along a corridor, feet tripping along a dark metallic floor which clangs with every step. The metal moves up each wall a few inches, and then it becomes transparent, something akin to glass but with an opalescent sheen which still allows the rooms behind to be seen. 

 

And what Lance sees is the stuff of nightmares. 

 

To his right are what looks like sentries, except they’re human. Or parts of them are. A leg, half a face, one with their insides held open with tiny spires of metal, the chest cavity flared out for all to see. Their heads lulls, gaze focusing on him as he walks and he realises this person is not only still alive but _awake_.  He feels sick, the blood on their torsos gleaming through the strange sheen of the glass-like material. He’d known that some of the sentries were human, but assumed most wore masks and armour, not that they were slowly disintegrated into robot parts, piece by piece. 

 

He moves his eyes away shuddering, but to his left is no better. There is a smoke filled tank stocked with parts, suspended on wires. A series of fingers splayed out phantomly with no hand insight, all the nails disturbingly painted red. A torso with no limbs. One eye ball. 

 

Bile rises in Lance’s throat and he convulses, sure he’s about to be sick. But a Galra guard snarls, tugs him to the right and they turn around a sharp corner. Lance lifts his eyes and catches sight of a man asleep, attached to a metal table, at least five wires emerging from his body. One of his arms is animatronic, pulsing with Galra purple intermittently, although he does not stir. 

 

The man is the last thing Lance sees before he is pulled into a small room and thrown in, collapsing to the floor before he can make sense of what’s happened. This time though, he does not spin around, only retches violently on all fours, entire body shaking. He desperately gasps for air, willing himself to calm down although he isn’t sure if he can. He’s never been this scared before, this disgusted and his mind is splintering from everything he’s just seen. 

 

Eventually he stops shaking, sits up to his knees and takes in the room. It’s small and square, metal pipes running across the top but otherwise bare. It’s a lighter grey than the hallway, lit with dim yellow lights giving the room a strange glow. Lance swallows. He doesn’t know what to do. He has no idea where he is and although he has an inclining at why, he still isn’t sure if it’s all to do with seeing Keith. Would all this be just for meeting someone presumed dead? And judging by what he saw on his way, there is no chance he is making it out of here unscathed. 

 

Lance feels tears prick at his eyes and he buries his head in his hands as he starts to sob. It’s messy and clawing, whining wounded noises escaping from his throat, because this is it. This is where he will die, and he knows it will not be quick and it will be painful. The inevitability of his fate is a cruel type of terror, and he has no sword to battle against it with. 

 

_Your emotions are so loud. How do you stand it?_

 

The voice rings through his mind, causing Lance to halt in his sobs on instant. He breathes in shakily three times, heart a metronome in his ears. For he is sure those words came to him but he is also sure they were not spoken. Just echoing in his mind without the need for hearing. 

 

_That is better, the calmness of fear. Now, we can talk._

 

“What?” Lance says, his voice barely a whisper in reply. 

 

_I understand what has happened today is much for you to take in. Your mind is a delicate thing. But we do not have much time and you must make a choice._

 

Lance swallows, scrubbing at his eyes and removing his hands from his face. He stares around the room, twisting on his knees to capture any indication of where this voice may be coming from. When he finds nothing, he stumbles to his feet. 

 

“Who are you?” Lance says. 

 

There is a pause of five seconds before a rumble answers in his mind. 

 

_I am unity. The bringer of parts to a whole, the undercurrent of the bottomless sea. I am the voice of the ocean, the creator of waves. I am the beating heart who gives life to all, the mind of the architect, the one who sees the nature of possibility. I am Blue, the right leg of Voltron._

 

Lance tries to comprehend the words pushed together in that nature, all the while spinning around to try and find anything that could be a source of it so he doesn’t have to admit the voice is in his head alone. But he gives in quickly. 

 

“What’s a Voltron? Umm...Blue?” 

 

Something that sounds like a sigh echoes in his mind. 

 

_Blue shall suffice. And I do not have time to explain further as we are now. I offer you a choice, Lance McClain._

 

Lance swallows, a sinking feeling awakening with the words. He is certain that a choice given by a phantom in his mind is not going to be something he necessarily wants. But in this moment, he has few options. 

 

“Okay, fire away,” he says, waving his hand at the ceiling. 

 

_As you have gathered, you are unlikely to survive your current position. And the experiences leading to your death will be painful and hideous. However, I can help you escape. Not just from this room, but from this place, take you somewhere safe. I can equip you with ways to defend yourself and indeed fight against the Galra. I can help you survive._

 

Lance swallows, the bile and shakes from before returning. He knows all of what Blue is telling him, has realised it himself. But to have someone, even a random voice confirm it, extinguishes any residual fantastical hope he has. 

 

“I take it you need something from me?” Lance says, fighting against his fears. 

 

A rumble of laughter, a thunderous growl of approval. Despite its strangeness, it seems oddly fond. 

 

_I need you. I need your mind and your body, your very essence. I will combine with you, shift us in a way that makes you suitable enough for the task. It will change you forever. But you will live. The choice is yours, Lance. Die in this place at the hands of these monsters, or become a part of Voltron._

 

It isn’t exactly a choice. Lance closes his eyes against the flow of emotion that washes over; fear, uncertainty, desperation, hope. And through it all the wish, the yearning to survive. His options are limited, he has no idea what Voltron is, and if changing him forever is even worth the risk. 

 

He does not want to die though. That, he knows for sure. 

 

_This is why I love humans. And you, in particular, are a good specimen._

 

Lance isn’t exactly sure if he should take pride in that, so instead stands tall and nods although there is no one to see him. 

 

“I’ll take you up on this, Blue. I want to live. I’ll become a part of Voltron” 

 

For a moment nothing happens, and Lance wonders if through his terror he imagined the whole thing; a voice in his mind offering a way out even though there is nothing to be done now. But then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees it. 

 

Liquid metal. That’s the only way he can describe it, running like raindrops down the far wall. It collects then slivers; grey with a glimmer of silver, sparkling in the light and meandering in his direction. Lance gulps, frozen in horror and fascination as it crawls to him, reaching the tip of his shoe. It parts then, sliding on either side so the substance surrounds his foot before stopping. 

 

_Thank you, Lance._

 

Then it pounces. Lance screams as it rises, rapidly covering his foot and half his leg before spreading, outwards and upwards, splashes on his clothing; multiplying until it’s encased half his body and is sweeping across his arm. Lance is still screaming, holding his hand before his face as the liquid jumps between his fingertips and lazily seeps upwards. It’s cold on his exposed flesh, his extremities turning numb within seconds of the first bite of the chill, although his hand still moves on command despite being coated in silver-grey. 

 

Lance is crying now as the substance crawls to his neck. He is sure this was wrong, that he truly will die this way; that this voice, Blue was just another trick.  Another ploy before his inevitable painful death. 

 

Just as the liquid moves to his mouth, he hears the voice once more. 

 

_Close your eyes. And no Lance, you will not die. Not yet. We have so much to do._

 

And despite the fear, the strangeness of all this and the knowledge that what’s about to happen to him is going to change all of his life and it may not be for the better, he listens and his eyes fall shut. 

 

The cold hurts like a knife to his throat for a heartbeat and he feels himself flail, panic and perhaps fall. But then it’s over and he feels nothing. No pain, no gravity bringing him down, no sound or sense. Just a pleasant floating, a nothingness that's welcoming, the eye of the storm. 

 

Then his mind flickers to life, like a screen rebooting and he finds himself recalling pieces of the past, little moments that stick inside him, frame and ground him. Running hand and hand with Rachel through the fields. His first day of school, giant bag weighing him down. Hunk handing him a birthday present, beautifully wrapped in blue and gold paper. Helping Katie cut her hair and slowly seeing Pidge come to life. His mum crying as he stands for a photo in his Garrison uniform. That uniform again, tears cloying at his throat, white flowers shaking in his hands at the memorial ceremony for Keith. Days with Hunk and Pidge as they move forward in their adult lives together, and halting at that moment he was pulled away from them, dragged away by the Galra towards these fateful hours. 

 

And he feels it rise under his skin. Pain, so much pain, flashes of agony so intense it sparks out his vision in spotlights, almost tearing him to pieces. Screams, cries and the knowledge that this is not right, the Galra have been torturing and hurting for so long, breaking and shaping the world to their will, crushing anything in their path like rubble under their feet. 

 

Lance is sure some of this pain is his own, his planet’s. But much of it is not his. Yet he feels it unite with his own, with his sense of injustice, with the knowledge of what they have lost and what he would lose now without Blue. They fit. Together in their aims and goals: wishing to set people free, save lives and preserve worlds.  

 

It flourishes, their combination and Lance only understands pieces, mind stretching to accommodate ideas and concepts just out of reach. As the magnitude settles he wonders for a moment if he can do this. He’s just Lance, nothing special and so far his life has been a series of mundane incidents. But Blue sings in those spaces, draws them together and sews them as one, skin to skin. And she could not do that if he was not ready, not the right person to face this fight. 

 

A contented purr in the back of his mind rears to life, and Lance feels himself come back down to reality. 

 

_There you are, my Paladin._

 

Lance opens his eyes. Blue is in his head and he guesses this is how it works now, she travels with him, a buddy system of the mind.  He is miraculously standing, feet planted firmly on solid ground, in the same grey room as before. Yet it is not. For now Lance’s vision is different, brighter and deeper; he can see where there are tiny cracks in the construction, knows the material the room is made of, can see the way the metal forms and twists to make itself. 

 

He looks down and starts. For his clothes are gone and in their place he’s wearing a suit, something like the flight suit he once wore during his Garrison days, but stranger. It seems old, tarnished from use, an off white colour with bent edges as if it’s been hammered around him from recycled metals. It’s streaked in places with royal blue, a pattern he cannot identify. His hands are encased in gloves too, matching his look perfectly. He shifts, and it moves with him, not a single disruption in flow. 

 

It’s machinery, it has to be. Some sort of metal protective suit as his garb. His vision is now like a scope, analysing and sending information to him, a part of the new uniform. However, his thoughts are cut short as Blue interrupts. 

 

_Ah. They come. Time to go, Paladin._

 

Blue’s voice echoes and this time it seem less of an omnipotent presence and more of a command in an earpiece, a partner to guide him through his very first battle. Lance listens, and finds he can hear them, the Galra who are approaching leisurely from the corridor.

 

“-resonating too. They are on their way. We now have four of five, it’s just a matter of time before we can take them all.”

 

“We’re killing them? Why did they keep the Champion then?”

 

“Not my problem, we have orders.” 

 

And although he knows they mean to kill him, that he is their target, Lance smiles. For Blue nudges his mind, guides him forward and he inhales once, feeling that flow between them, the nuance starting to arise as his senses adapt. 

 

His fingers flex and he readies, hearing the Galra’s heartbeats as they step to the door. For he is not prey any longer, not a boy without hope lost in this world. And he is not wearing a suit like he first thought, not carrying Blue around with him in his head as a passenger. 

 

They are one, they are fused, fated together. He is the Blue Paladin. 

 

He _is_ machine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is welcome and appreciated!
> 
> Find me on on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/), [Tumblr](http://enlacinglineswrites.tumblr.com) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/enlacinglines/).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lance...what did you do?” Keith whispers, still moving with his hand outstretched as if he means to touch Lance’s face. 
> 
> Before either can move though, the sound of gunfire from behind occurs, and they both start. With it, Keith twists to his left and catches sight of the man in the room. 
> 
> “Shiro,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, and runs to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for supporting this story! 
> 
> Sorry it's taken a while to update. I had an internal panic about this story but I think it's all sorted now, so expect the next updates faster! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy chapter 3 :)

There’s a moment before combat spared for thinking. Lance has always been a master of this vital point, the few seconds to assess before giving himself to the fray. Although since the Garrison days he’s not practiced much, he still recalls how much of a difference those moments make; Lance is a strategist, unlike Keith who would launch into every exercise headfirst; skill, reckless intensity and a decent hint of luck taking him to victory. 

 

So as the Galra enter, Lance takes that splinter of time to assess, and having now fused with some sort of mechanical being, it makes it all the more easier. He seems to be able to scan them, the information directly available in an instant. Whatever is over his face acts as a visor, shows him pieces of key information, as well as now being able to general just  _ know _ things that he would not otherwise be able to discover. Due to this, he can tell one is a fully armored sentry, with a visible gun in his hands, and no other weapons. The other is an Officer, no armour but with two concealed guns at the holster on his hips. 

 

The data comes to him on command as they enter the room, and Lance makes his decision. He launches himself at the sentry first, a little surprised at just how fast he is as he slams the still shocked Galra into the wall, whose head impacts harder than Lance imagined it would, knocking him out instantaneously. The sentry drops the weapon, which Lance grabs, before spinning to face the other Galra. 

 

The element of surprise has done him well, as the Officer has only just managed to get his gun free when Lance turns on him. He doesn’t think; there’s a gun being raised, no question in the soldier’s eyes of what he’ll do next. No remorse, no hesitation, no other options. 

 

So Lance shoots first. 

 

There’s minor recall from the blaster in his hands, only rocking him back slightly. It isn’t meant for this close range, so there is no question of it hitting its target. A shocked expression crosses the Galra’s face, the grim battle mode gone. None of this, Lance thinks, was what they were expecting when they opened the door, could not have imagined he would fight back. 

 

Then there’s blood. It sprays, it pours, gallops to escape the cavity forming from the blast wound as the body slumbs backwards, crumbling at it’s foundations before becoming subject to gravity. Lance watches, gun raised still at chest height as the body falls, another wave of blood torrenting to spread across the floor. 

 

The gun must have sounded, but Lance does not recall hearing it; too trapped in a cycle of the look on the Galra’s face as he is shot, and the blood, endlessly spilling out. Lance was trained as a teenager to fight, mainly to escape hostile threats they may encounter once passing the Garrison programme. But first and foremost he was a pilot, trained to work a craft and soar through the stars. 

 

He has never killed before. 

 

He’s still watching the blood seep when an alarm sounds, blaring powerfully through the room, a small yelp escaping him in shock. 

 

_ We must go. They’re here.  _

 

“They?” Lance says, eyes still locked on the body, mind unable to restart. 

 

_ The others. Paladin, you cannot stay here, we must find the rest of me.  _

 

Lance doesn’t bother responding to this, as it doesn’t answer his question and alone makes no sense; at least no more sense than any of this day has so far. But a siren is blaring and his fight or flight sense is kicking in; he cannot stay here, not after what he’s done. So he turns, gun still in hand, and sprints from the room, moving the way he came. 

 

He’s expecting a marching guard of Galra, so he’s surprised when all he can see is one lone figure moving swiftly towards him. There are vague noises, shouts in gruff voices from the main entrance, the clanging of metal and doors opening, but that’s it. However, Lance braces himself for the running figure, blaster raised if shaking somewhat. 

 

Lance is not sure if he can pull the trigger; doesn’t know if he can do that again. 

 

However, as the drumming of feet on metal continues and the figure approaches, Lance knows they aren’t Galra, or at least are not dressed as such; the steps not making the same sound as their usual boots. He frowns, paces forward so he is just approaching the room containing the man suspended by wires, when there is a spark of a voice in his head. 

 

A voice different from the one he’s slowly getting used to; one which has his muscles poised for flight, sounds like the moment on the edge of the fall, calling from the part of him that just wants to run and run until he cannot breathe. 

 

_ Red. _

 

Lance blinks, and in that instant Keith Kogane runs into the light. He’s dressed in a similar outfit to their last meeting, except now he’s placed a scarf over half his face instead of a breathing mask. A ridiculous way of trying to disguise his identity, but perhaps most people aren’t as intune to the swing of his hair. He notices Lance and skids to a halt. 

 

“What are you?” Keith says, and Lance is not entirely sure he meant to say it, there’s so much incredulity in his face. 

 

Lance wants to reassure him, the urge so strong, but he isn’t wearing a suit, cannot remove his helmet like before. However, Blue seems to chuckle and he feels the covering over his head begin to melt away. 

 

For melting is what it’s like. He hasn’t seen what he looks like fully covered in this substance, but from the left corner of his head he feels it part, as if the liquid is repelled away by a magnet. He feels it trickle down and stop half way across his face, until eventually he is part seen, part still covered in the helmet approximation. 

 

Keith’s eyes grow wider and his face drains of colour as it occurs. He shuffles forward, transfixed at the change, and Lance is mesmerised, captured completely in Keith’s gaze for the first time in his memory. 

 

“Lance...what did you do?” Keith whispers, still moving with his hand outstretched as if he means to touch Lance’s face. 

 

Before either can move though, the sound of gunfire from behind occurs, and they both start. With it, Keith twists to his left and catches sight of the man in the room. 

 

“Shiro,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, and runs to the door. Lance looks behind them, but the gunfire seems to be concentrated away from this corridor, and he can’t help but wonder what else is happening at the same time. 

 

“Lance, can you help me open this door? They’re distracted by The Blade, they shouldn’t come down here. I need to get Shiro,” Keith says, looking back over his shoulder. 

 

Lance stalls for a moment, the name and face of the man coming to light. Shiro had been part of Exploration, had even taught them a few times at the Garrison. He was said to be one of Earth’s most accomplished pilots, having travelled to parts of the Empire for diplomatic missions. From Lance’s vague memories, Shiro was kind, a good teacher and a figure to aspire to. 

 

But he’d died, as part of a failed mission to a new planet years ago, the entire crew being lost. If Lance recalls, Pidge’s brother originally applied for that mission, and hadn’t been accepted; both were shaken in the aftermath of what could have been. 

 

But many Exploration crews perished, or simply never came back, it wasn’t that uncommon. The Galra had made it clear in all of Lance’s memory of how dangerous planets outside of the Empire could be, and the struggles they had with warlike peoples. 

 

Although, as Lance rapidly is beginning to realise, much of what the Galra say are lies. 

 

He moves over to the door of the room, and the half of his face still covered by the metallic liquid helmet shows him the locking mechanism is not particularly complex, and can be dealt with easily. It seems the Galra did not anticipate break-ins to these particular rooms. 

 

“I got it, get out the way, Keith,” Lance says, aiming the gun at the control pad. 

 

“What? Lance, are you insane?” Keith says, spinning and positioning himself in front of the door almost protectively, as if Lance’s shooting would somehow damage Shiro. The shouts from the main corridor are louder now, and Lance glances away to make sure they aren’t seen. 

 

“What else are you going to do, lock pick with your knife? Do you want me to help or not, Mullet?” Lance says, a hiss of frustration and terror. 

 

Keith narrows his eyes, but moves, keeping Lance in his sight at all times. Lance rolls his eyes in response, then lifts the gun once more, and carefully shoots. 

 

This time he’s ready for the recall, and as he’s focused on firing he realises that the gun does not make much of a noise. More of a whoosh of the projectile, which appears to be lazer type ammunition that fries the locking mechanism just as he expected. Surprisingly, no further alarms are raised as Keith pushes the door open and runs inside. Lance glances around once, checks they are still relatively unseen, and moves in. 

 

Keith is already unhooking the wires surrounding Shiro, all of which seem to be plugged into the metal arm. Lance approaches carefully, then seeing it’s really a one person job, keeps his eyes and gun trained on the doorway, awaiting any potential soldier, no matter how unlikely. He only turns back when he hears a huff from Keith and the scrape of the table moving unbidden along the floor. 

 

Keith is hauling Shiro upwards, draping him across his back. Lance rushes over to the other side, noticing as he does that Shiro is stirring, slowly coming to. Lance grabs Shiro’s other side despite Keith’s protesting noises, and the two help move him out of the room. Keith steers them stumbling towards the main corridor. 

 

_ No. We must go the other way.  _

 

Lance stops as Blue calls in his mind, urging and almost prodding him to turn around. Keith stops too, glaring at him over the top of Shiro’s head. 

 

“What are you doing, we need to go!”

 

But Lance shakes his head. Shiro makes a muffled noise, perhaps syllables of Keith’s name, who turns to look down with care and concern. Lance grimaces; he doesn’t want to leave them, but the pull in his mind is increasing, and he knows he must. 

 

“I have to go. Will you be okay?” Lance asks, moving away slightly and helping Keith balance Shiro, who seems more aware by the second. 

 

Keith takes Shiro’s weight but keeps his eyes on Lance. 

 

“Where are you going?” he says, and Lance feels a surge of frustration at what is probably a rational question. 

 

But he can’t explain. He has no idea where he’s going, and what’s happening in general, which all started when he met Keith. Who, he realises, has not explained at all what he’s doing here and why. He mentioned something about ‘The Blade’, whomever they may be, so he obviously has some semblance of a plan, which is sadly more than Lance does. So through the stress and the lack of information, Lance responds rather snappily. 

 

“Where are  _ you _ going? 

 

Keith stares blankly at him, which given the circumstances, is probably appropriate. Before either can say anything further, Shiro groans and turns fully to Keith. 

 

“Keith? What...what’s happening?” 

 

Lance takes that as his cue to depart. He turns swiftly, the clawing in his mind relaxing it’s hold with every step he marches towards where Blue is guiding. 

 

Every step away from Keith. 

 

“Lance!”

 

The shout has him spinning, gun at the ready, but it's only Keith and Shiro, the latter now thankfully seeming able to stand by himself, albeit by leaning heavily on Keith and looking as if merely being vertical was an act of utmost effort. 

 

“Thank you,” Keith says, his voice ringing out despite the din and the continuous pounding of Lance’s heart in his ears, a now constant theme. 

 

Keith looks angry, as if annoyed he’s had to voice thanks but his tone rings true, genuine. Groggily Shiro blinks at them both, clearly trying to work out what this exchange is and why they’re still standing there. 

 

“You’re welcome, Mullet,” Lance says, unable to stop himself using the teasing nickname. 

 

As he speaks, his helmet starts to reform fully, the liquid tracing back up, trickling against gravity and retracing it’s own steps until there is no more skin left on show, just the suit all chrome white and blue. Shiro lets out a gasp, and Keith looks momentarily stunned, even though he’s already seen it in reverse. 

 

Lance knows this is a signal from Blue to move, so turns on his heel without another word, and thunders in the opposite direction, worry a companion with every stride of his feet. Blue however, rumbles pleasantly in his head, a soothing balm. 

 

_ Do not worry, my Paladin. You will see him again very soon.  _

 

* * *

 

Blue leads him away from the fray, whatever that may be, and soon he is following a route of shimmering crystalline cyan, which he is sure would vanish from his sight without the suit. At first, Lance passes through a twisting turbulence of corridors much like the one his prison was in, all of a similar width. They contain room after room, for different purposes. Most thankfully are empty of people, but hold equipment; tables much like the one Shiro was strapped to, one full of shelves containing what looks like medical supplies and few beds, although Lance does not know if it is to ally pain or cause it. As he keeps turning, they morph into what can only be prison cells, like the one he was stored in. Rooms containing nothing with only one door, and others with obvious restraints. He tries not to look too carefully, just follows the lights and runs. 

 

The path leads downwards, which he’s not that confident in, but the rumbling comfort of his guide keeps him going, keeps his eyes trained on the path ahead, a trust he’s not sure this voice in his mind has earned. However, he has little choice. 

 

He does not know where they are heading, but as he careers down staircases, past doors all locked and dim, he sees less evidence of frequent usage. The complex they are in is huge, and Lance has a feeling it’s only at half capacity, this area used mostly for storage, or kept clear for a future plan. The noise from above has vanished, replaced with an eerie echo of his own footsteps, heartbeat and rapid breath. 

 

The lighting guides him down one final set of stairs which are locked. Lance frowns, as none of those before have been. There’s no window, just a keypad, and Lance presses his ear against the door, trying to listen, even through the helmet, for an indication of why this way is barred. But he hears nothing, so with a sigh stands and looks to the keypad. 

 

_ It will open for you. We are close, I am stronger here.  _

 

Blue’s voice rings into the dense quiet, and Lance gulps. The heaviness of being underground seems to weigh suddenly; and he feels the need for more air, more space, more sunlight. Another taste of that real, natural sunshine Keith had given him, a sensation he may now be addicted to. Thoughts of Keith spark concern; he hopes Keith and Shiro are safe, that they somehow made it out. There isn’t much Lance can do for them right now though, so he shakes his head clear, turns back to the keypad and places his hand over it. 

 

There’s a moment when Lance feels ridiculously stupid. Then, with an almost imperceptible flash of brilliance, the door clicks open. The guiding lights from Blue seem to shine brighter down the staircase, which may be due to the lack of lighting in the stairwell, as it seems half forgotten, with a barely perceptible indigo tone. However, Lance is sure as he steps through the doorway and closes the door in his wake, that Blue’s presence does seem stronger. 

 

Lance takes his time walking down. With the locked door and the lack of presence, he feels no need to run. His visor tells him no more than the direction to go, and Blue is silent in his head, no further comments as he continues down. He expects the staircase to go on for miles, but it must be only about two further floors down when it comes to a halt, another door at its conclusion. He knows what to do this time though, so approaches and holds his hand to the keypad, the click following after. 

 

Lance isn’t sure what he expected to be behind the door. In fact, he can say with confidence nothing has gone as he expected or could have even imagined over the last few hours. Yet his mind stutters to a halt at what he sees as he enters the room. 

 

Room is probably not the correct term. The area is huge, almost like the hanger they stored planes in for the Garrison. Lance’s feet walk inside, his mind detached from the movement as he cranes his neck further and further back to take in the full height of the ceiling. 

 

This has to be at least double the size of the hanger, and is bare of any flight equipment or planes. The room is supported by metal beams, skeletal in structure that give it a far more airier feel than anything he’s seen for hours, providing the illusion they are not underground. Light shines from somewhere high on the ceiling, illuminating the only, if ginormous, thing in the room. 

 

It is a lion. 

 

A metal lion, frame shining azure in the dim reflections, a hazy hexagonal gold shield before it, a sure sign of protection, but still allowing the other side to be seen clearly. Lance has no idea how they were able to build something this massive; the gears on the powerful looking legs have to be twice the size of his body, let alone the rest of it. It’s obviously robotic in nature, but somehow different from the animatronic sentries the Galra prefer; it’s been pieced together with plates and gears, which can be seen by the naked eye. But Lance is sure as he moves closer, that the lion is not a simple design, not something that could be easily torn apart and rebuilt. 

 

It’s powered down apart from the shield, no sense of life or motion. Although as Lance stares, stopping a few feet away, he swears it seems poised, ready to catch its prey, to pounce in with the slightest provocation. The whole construct is so alien to Lance, so unlike anything he’s ever seen before, he can barely comprehend what it is or what it’s purpose is. 

 

_ It is me. _

 

Lance starts. For Blue’s voice does sound in his head but quieter, with the full volume seeming to come from the lion itself. The air around vibrates with the sound, the area instantly electrified, Lance stumbling back three steps. 

 

“Blue?” he says, voice so small and so human in the space. 

 

The noise in return is incredible. For with his question, there is a flash, and the eyes of the lion ignite, a match struck within. They shine gleaming yellow, and it’s head dips, as if shaking itself from a deep sleep. The sound of grinding metal accompanies the movement; shifting gears and iron sinews rough from an age without use. It cracks, it pounds and slowly, the lion itself moves. With its head raised it’s almost clashing against the ceiling; it’s back rears forward, a cat stretching from a long nap, and then with great effort it raises its paw. 

 

Lance is frozen to the ground, despite his nerves telling him to flee, to run from this abomination of metal; but he’s too terrified. His mouth opens as if to scream but no sound comes out, even the breath in his lungs stoppered by the site before him. 

 

The metal lion’s weight shifts, and it’s front paw slams to the ground. The floor shakes, but not as much as Lance anticipates it will under the crushing force of such a weight. Something in floor must be dulling it, the room created for such an incredible being. For that is what it is, Lance feels as he stares at it moving, parts shifting and awakening. It is Blue. He has been told as such, but what Blue is he cannot fathom. Only that this metal casing holds something far more alive than any droid or robot he’s seen in his lifetime. 

 

The second step does not seem to cause such a shake, but it may be that Lance is braced for it. However, once the steps are complete, he is still not ready for the lion to lean towards him, as if sniffing to evaluate him carefully. 

 

He is aware how small and breakable he is. How at this being’s mercy he is. 

 

He feels the suit peel back from his face once more, this time revealing his whole face, stopping when reaching the base of his collarbone. Lance gazes into the eyes of the lion, his whole frame starting to tremble at last as his body responds appropriately to the situation. The eyes, seemingly protected by the azure armor covering the body of the lion, are huge, literally pools of amber he’d drown in, choking and ruined in the unearthly power rumbling through. 

 

He’s transfixed. In those eyes he sees things; flickers of a life he’s not yet lived, moments in a dark world of amber skies, screaming in a dim room alight with a blue flare, falling deliberately through a crimson pool, pushing, searching, reaching for-

 

The lion breaks his gaze by pulling back, stretching in the direction of its hind legs. Its movement has a sense of fluidity now, as if its realised the extent of it’s limbs, how they fix and work together. From the stretch it pushes off abruptly, head rising upwards and  _ roars _ . 

 

Lance’s hands slap at his ears against the torrent of sound but it does little good. The roar bounces off the walls, surrounds and suffocates every inch of his soul, resonating deeply within. It’s a noise of agony but triumph, despair paired with hope, loss with potential of new beginnings. Lance doesn’t know how he feels it, but he understands the lion’s cry completely. 

 

In many ways, it is his own. 

 

Although it feels as if the roar goes on forever, in reality it’s a quick blast. Once finished, the lion lowers its head towards Lance once more, and as it does the hexagonal shield shimmers before fading away, piece by piece. 

 

Lance gasps, as the meaning is so obvious. As it’s head rests close to him, the jaws open wide, and he sees what appears to be steps in the opening. 

 

_ My Paladin.  _

 

With shaking legs, Lance follows the voice, knowing it now comes from inside the lion. This is Blue after all, as she claimed, and she’s named him her ‘Paladin.’ Whatever that means. So he takes the steps one at a time, and makes his way inside the lion’s mouth, trying to ignore the fact that this isn’t the weirdest thing he’s done today. As he moves, there’s a pleased rumble around him, Blue approving of his choice. 

 

He winds his way through a half lit passage, upwards and upwards  until it opens out into what he realises with shock, is a flight deck. There’s a pilot’s chair with a control panel before it, the most advanced one he’s ever seen. The eyes of the lion are transparent from here, providing an incredible view of the room from such a height. He can see that the wall in front of them is blank with a rip down the centre, obviously parting in the middle to let anything through. 

 

Tentatively, Lance makes his way to the pilot’s chair. The glow in the cockpit seems to flare slightly, a little brighter, a little more energy thrumming through with every step he takes. With one more glance around to make sure Blue is not flaring up a warning, he slowly sits in the chair. 

 

The rightness of the motion sings through him, a calling without knowing it was there. He feels good in this place, in this chair. As if he’d been working his way here his whole life, taken steps and motions without realising it. Lance can’t quite put his finger on exactly why he feels this way, why he is instantly comfortable at the helm of this giant machine. But he is, and for the first time in hours he feels himself relax infinitesimally. 

 

There are controls by his arms at the perfect height, which he grips onto. As he does, the console lights up, Blue stretching once more as he does, but this time with purpose. Lance inhales, feeling himself brace for this next step. 

 

“Okay Blue, I take it we’re busting out of here?” he says, unable to keep himself from grinning as he does. 

 

Blue approves in his mind with something akin to laughter, the screens lighting up before him in a language he doesn’t understand, but is somehow still clear. It’s a flight map, with a destination in mind. 

 

_ Yes. The doors will open, and then we must go up. You will fly, and I will guide. Are you ready? _

 

Lance grips the steering harder, fingers tensing in the suit, the smile on his face still stretching, probably approaching manic at this point. It seems Blue’s power controls this room, but outside of it he is not sure how safe they will be. If he’s flying, that must mean she cannot move herself, which explains why he’s been brought along for her escape. 

 

It only occurs to him just as the metal doors start to creep open, that he has no idea how a giant metal lion flies. 

 

He finds out pretty swiftly though. He’s flown planes before and although it doesn’t sound the same, he knows the whirring, possibly rumbling purr of a noise is like the engine preparing for take off. So he grips the controls and as the door opens, pushes them forward. 

 

The lion springs with a jolt and Lance can’t help but let a cry escape as they zoom outwards. Thankfully there are no turns, the door simply opens into a wide corridor, giving him time to adjust to the velocity. The lion responds far quicker than any craft; just a touch of the controls and she adjusts. It’s far more in synch with his ideas, which makes sense as Blue is still in his head. She responds to his manual direction, but can adjust slightly with his thoughts; it's an amazing experience, and only a few moments into the journey Lance is enthralled. 

 

Ahead, the corridor starts sloping upwards. So Lance pulls back, bracing himself for the sharp change, the pilot seat moving with him as they both tip backwards. It is nothing close to the sound of a plane engine, but Blue’s noises increase as they sped up, metal flying by as they fly up and up. 

 

Until suddenly, they are out.

 

Lance gasps as they are suddenly soaring straight into the sky. Night sky, all shades of blue-black, royal purple and a sprinkling of stars. Lance fumbles for a moment, helping Blue right to a horizontal position before he just stares. 

 

The night has never been so close. He can almost reach it through the window; wonders how different it tastes from the day, what the coolness will feel like on his skin. He could get lost in that canvas of darkness before him, chase every pinpoint of life and just  _ be _ in the real world as it slumbers. 

 

The lion jolts, Blue wanting his attention. 

 

He sees the map before him on the screen, a simple line showing a pathway through the sky. He nods to himself, focus returning back to the controls as they fly swiftly in the direction Blue is sending them. They rise, and Lance finds himself smiling, eyes watering just a little as they hurtle into space. 

 

For originally, this is what he was meant to do. The Garrison programme was for a particular mission, part of the Explorer division, but instead of taking adults and essentially throwing them into space with a year of training, they were specifically training those with potential from ages 13 to 18, before assigning them as pilots. Lance had spent four years training to do just this, pilot crafts to unknown destinations, make advances and meet new peoples on planets yet to be charted by the Galra. 

 

Or at least, that was what he always assumed. That was what the Explorer division did, but the Garrison programme had never officially stated what they’d be doing. 

 

It didn’t matter in the end. Three months before the first set of pilots in the year above Lance were due to make their first trip, Keith Kogane died in an accident as part of a training exercise. The entire plane exploded not long after take off, only scraps left. The programme was quickly abandoned, and when Lance turned eighteen he was sent to Cultivation, the four years of combat, flight, engineering and physics knowledge discarded as if it had never happened. 

 

None of it has prepared him for flying a giant lion into deep space, but it is probably the best basis he could have wished for. 

 

As he contemplates the steps leading up to this moment, a thought suddenly strikes him, fear dripping through his spine in burning raindrops 

 

“Blue, the Galra probably know we’ve gone...are they following? Is there some kind of tracking system on board?” Lance says, giving in and just addressing his lion directly. 

 

He looks around, trying to decipher the symbols on the screen before him, but there’s nothing that looks even remotely familiar. He has two human languages and Galra under his belt, but these are still so alien to him. All the map shows is their destination, no sign of any tailing ships. Lance is suspicious though; there is no way, even within the confusion of whatever was occurring, they missed Blue escaping or have some way of tracking her. 

 

_ Do not worry my Paladin, for now we must hurry. Once we arrive, we will be safe. _

 

“Are you sure?” Lance says, watching the bars on the screen vanish and the space before them continue on in an endless mauve starscape. 

 

There is a pause before Blue replies. 

 

_ Yes. For a while, at least. _

 

Lance sighs, suspecting as much. But there is little to be done now. And, despite the strangeness of the day, so far Blue has been true to her word. Lance is safe, far safer than he would have been in that room, and is moving further and further away from the Galra. As he pushes the lion forward, the stars stream into light beams as they fly. 

 

“Better step on it then,” he says with a grin. 

 

* * *

 

He loses track of time as they fly deeper into space. By the cramping of his muscles he knows hours have passed, but he is lost in the marvel of the adventure, mindlessly watching the bars on the map vanish as they move towards the target. 

 

When they finally arrive, Lance needs the map to tell him he’s approaching his destination. It’s the most bizarre occurrence; the map informs him they are close, but the stars and space reach onward and outwards, as if nothing could dare interrupt. With a jolt though, something does. They cross some sort of barrier, and Lance knows without there being any change in their movement, or anything disrupting the lion itself, they are being scanned. He can just sense it, senses something pushing into him, testing and questioning for a few moments. 

 

Then, a veil lifts, and the most incredible space craft is before them. 

 

Lance’s mouth falls open at the site. It gleams white, a brighter shade then anything he’s ever seen before. Galra construction is a mesh of greys, blacks and purples, with nothing like the brightness he’s seeing now. It’s almost painful to look at, so stark against the backdrop of space. His mind can barely comprehend how such a shade devoid of darkness can exist; it  _ shines _ . Lance has never seen anything that wasn’t a gleam from the sheen of polished gun-metal grey. 

 

It’s also astoundingly large. Whatever was keeping it invisible has to have immense power, as the craft has one elongated centre, the white melding with aqua paneling which courses through, pulsing to some sort of frequency. Two smaller, almost pincer looking long parts are attached to the main body; like dangerous sniping arms. It’s impressive and mildly threatening in stature. 

 

There is still a way to go by the tracking system, and Lance pushes Blue faster to reach as soon as he can. Something about the structure doesn’t terrify him despite it’s look; it’s strangely welcoming for a ship that’s simply stationary in deep space, as if it were built for guests rather than the more practical fighter and cargo planes Lance has only ever seen. 

 

As they fly, the hum of Blue increases. She’s obviously happy to have arrived and Lance feels his spirits lifting as well, his grip becoming lax on the controls. Partly it's to do with Blue in his mind, her feelings influencing his, but the shield they are surrounded by also eases his worries of an impending attack. For, although Blue has stated they are safe, her addition of ‘for a while’ has him on tenterhooks. 

 

The craft looks impenetrable, yet as they fly towards the underbelly, a section seamlessly parts, as if awaiting their arrival. Lance pilots carefully, flying the lion through into the space beyond, and the lights of the cockpit dim around him slightly as Blue enters a familiar looking area which can only be a hanger. Much like the outside, it’s light with the aqua tinge to the room, whatever this power source is giving everything a mild blue light. But what is shocking to Lance is what’s inside the hanger. 

 

Two other lions; one green and one yellow. 

 

The yellow one is similar to his own, but possibly even larger, with more armor. The green one is markedly smaller in size but other than that, all three are almost identical in construction. Blue doesn’t seem disturbed at their presence, far from it. Her hum is of happiness, and a sense of belonging. And Lance remembers her mentions of being united once more. This must be what she meant, others like herself. 

 

Lance lands, the lion touching down smoothly next to the yellow one, paw by paw. He’s fairly pleased with himself as it powers down, the lights fading and the screens clearing. It’s then that he notices through the lion’s eyes two figures huddled together near what he assumes is the doorway out of the hanger, which is closed. Both are staring upwards from their positions on the floor, not moving but still keeping their eyes glued to the Blue Lion.

 

It takes him a moment, but Lance is then out of his seat and running back the way he entered, almost jumping out of his lion as he does. As he runs, he feels his suit melt away, liquid running back into nothing, in a similar way as it arrived. He shudders a little, almost tripping as he makes his final steps. The sensation is just as uncanny as it was the first time. 

 

He skids to a halt as he exits the mouth of Blue, panting hard. His eyes fill, and both figures on the ground gasp. 

 

“Lance?” Hunks says, in shock, as Pidge just continues to stare, mouth open. 

 

Lance sobs once, before running forward to both of his friends. Because of all the things in this world that have happened today, he couldn’t have predicted this. And as he slams into them, knees giving way as he dies, he couldn’t be happier to see his friends in this moment. 

 

Hunk is sobbing too, and Pidge clings to his neck so tightly he can barely breathe. But he doesn’t care, as they are  _ safe _ . All three of them are alive and not in the hands of the Galra, not in that place of nightmares, cut to pieces or dead without a second glance. 

 

After a moment, they each catch their breath, and pull back to face one another, tear streaked and smiling, all looking pale and ruffled. 

 

“So, flying robot space lions,” Lance says. 

 

Hunk nods while Pidge laughs hysterically, something in them breaking completely at the ridiculousness of everything. While Pidge giggles and clings onto the two of them, Hunk tries to fill him in. 

 

“The took us as soon as you vanished. I got put in some sort of transport cell, Pidge in another. Then this weird voice started calling to me, which turned out to be Yellow.” 

 

Hunk looks fondly up at the giant lion near them, which seems to Lance to almost flash with the acknowledgement. 

 

Lance turns back to his friend saying, “Same here. I have Blue in my head now. Then we found her lion form and made it here.” 

 

As Pidge and Hunk relay their full experiences, it becomes clear the Galra have been trying to use these lions for something. All were kept in very different areas of the Enclosure, all deep underground. And now they are the pilots, or Paladins apparently, and slowly gathering in this place. 

 

“Yeah, do you guys have any idea what this is?” Lance says, looking around. 

 

Pidge shakes their head. “No, I can’t get the door to open either. Green and Yellow don’t seem too worried though. When you showed up I assumed they’d open but I guess this must mean we’re waiting for more lions.” 

 

Lance raises his eyebrows. “How many are we waiting for?” 

 

Like fate, just as he speaks, there’s a clang of metal and a rumble which shakes floor under their feet. Lance’s stomach swoops and he grasps onto Hunk and Pidge as they all quiver. However, Hunk simply pats his arm comfortingly. 

 

“It’s fine buddy, this happened when you came in. And I don’t think the lions would be so calm if it was anything to worry about.” 

 

Lance nods, but still stays glued to Hunk’s side as the three take to their feet, backs still pressed against the door of the hanger as they await the arrival of whatever has been granted permission to enter the huge ship. Within a few seconds, it turns out both Pidge and Hunk are correct; for another lion enters the hanger. 

 

And this lion is most certain the king. 

 

It’s sleek black in colour, and although Blue and Yellow are bulky in stature, Black is another level of huge. It’s landing is fairly smooth, although the touch down wobbles a little, the pilot obviously not used to flying anything this large. Which Lance can sympathise with, of course. 

 

Before any of them have even had a chance to really take measure of this development, there is a flash of crimson, and a Red lion is zooming into the room. Lance’s breath is stolen by it, the speed of the flying incredible as it glides to a halt and comes to a stand still next to his own Blue one. This lion is smaller in comparison, the same size as Pidge’s green. 

 

Instantly though, Lance knows who that pilot must be, and therefore can take a fair guess of who the Black Paladin is too. Before he’s even really caught on what he’s doing, Lance is pounding towards the Red lion, coming to a stop near its mouth. 

 

“Wanna be careful where you fly, Mullet? You almost scratched up my girl!” he says, voice echoing off each wall of the hanger. 

 

“Lance, what the hell are yo...Shiro? Oh my god, Shiro are you okay?”

 

Pidge’s voice fades off, but Lance only has eyes for the lion before him. And sure enough, the mouth opens wide and Keith Kogane stumbles out, hair in disarray, braid half undone in places as it falls over one shoulder. 

 

It looks good. Too good. Lance’s brain fizzles out for a second and returns to Keith stepping right into his space. 

 

“I can land better than you can, Lance. Not my fault your poor lion is sticking out,” he says, smiling almost sweetly as he brushes past. 

 

Lance is left spluttering, completely frozen for a moment. He hears Blue chuckling in his mind for a moment, then a soft, comforting sensation; a reassurance that she’s perfectly happy with her positioning. Lance sighs to himself before spinning on his heel and making his way toward the others. Keith is by Shiro’s side, Pidge before him, who looks elated and terrified all at once. He remembers then that Pidge’s older brother had known Shiro fairly well, so perhaps they had done too. 

 

He’s almost to them when the bright fuchsia light blinds him. 

 

He hears the others cry out in alarm as he throws an arm over his eyes to shield them from the glare. It’s only for a moment, then he feels the light abate, but he needs to wait a second or two longer for his eyes to stop stinging. Then carefully, blinking all the while, he lowers his arm and squints. 

 

There, in the center of the room, stands a woman. Well, the projection of a woman; she has that holographic quality which he knows means she’s transmitting from somewhere near by, but the projection is fantastically clear. The woman is tall, with long wavy white hair, dark skin and dark blue eyes which stare widely around the room, shrewdly taking in the scene. She’s dressed in a blue and white gown with a circlet on her head. 

 

She looks important, like an Empress, as she turns in a full circle. Slowly, Lance edges forward to stand beside the closest person...who just so happens to be Keith. They all crowd together actually, gravitating to the only familiar things in the room as the woman finishes her observation. 

 

As she does, she sighs and crosses her arms. 

 

“Well, this is unexpected,” she says, her voice clipped, clear and frosty. Lance feels himself wince as if he’s been found wanting. 

 

“Stay where you are. None of you touch a thing. I’ll be there in less than a varga.” 

 

Then, without a single look in their direction, the projection vanishes and she is gone. There is silence in the room, all clearly stumped by this turn of events. 

 

“What the hell is going on?” Lance mutters to himself, feeling his head start to ache once more. 

 

“Guess we find out in less than a varga,” Keith says from next to him.

 

Lance sighs and closes his eyes, rubbing his steadily aching temples. Perhaps when this mysterious woman arrives, they’ll actually get some answers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my lovely writers support group for all the braid Keith content recently! 
> 
> Feedback is welcome and appreciated :) 
> 
> For previews and general Klance ramblings, find me on on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/), [Tumblr](http://enlacinglineswrites.tumblr.com) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/enlacinglines/).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh yes,” Pidge says, looking ever more elated as Lance becomes ever more horrified. 
> 
> Lance makes a noise, something between a whimper and a groan. This is bad. Really, uncomfortably bad, that he’s literally fallen into the arms of his teenage crush who's been nothing but a pain in his ass since he magically appeared from the dead less than 24 hours ago. 
> 
> And what’s more, he doesn’t even remember it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone reading and supporting this story! 
> 
> Enjoy the update, where two new characters join the fray...

It takes less than a minute after the hologram of the mysterious beautiful woman vanishes, for an argument to break out. 

 

“We should find a way out of here,” Keith says, marching unceremoniously over the spot where the woman had appeared, causing Lance to flinch. 

 

Pidge grins, seeing his reaction. “You know she’s a hologram, right? You can’t actually hurt her.” 

 

Lance rolls his eyes but does avoid the spot anyway as he catches up with Keith, who has marched over to the wall, wearing a determined expression. 

 

“Hold up, she told us not to move, we can’t start trying to bust our way out of here!” Lance says. 

 

Keith turns to appraise him, eyebrows raising as he does. Lance immediately has to will his body not to ignite, the threat of a blush warming the edges of his cheeks. There’s just something about the laser focus of Keith, of being the centre of his attention, that strikes a level of want and awe in Lance that he cannot control. 

 

It’s far too distracting and annoying. 

 

“Are you really going to listen to a woman you don’t know, who just appeared out of nowhere?” Keith says, the incredulity clear in his tone. 

 

Lance feels his hackles rise with the words, and moves forward into the Keith’s space, poking him in the chest without registering what he’s doing. 

 

“Listen, you aren’t our boss, you can’t tell us what to do, and you can’t just go around blasting holes in space ships or what-”

 

Lance stops mid rant, as without warning, a blur of static appears in the right hand corner of his vision. Swiftly on its heels comes a swaying motion of his limbs, as the dark static begins to spread, hurtling across his eyes. Blindly, he grabs out at something to hold onto as his legs try to give out, knees flexing in on themselves and nausea rising. 

 

Muffled voices reach his ears as if from underwater, and he braces himself against warm solidity before him. A beat passes and then he is being half led, and half dragged a distance as his vision is entirely replaced by shadow. He feels himself slump and someone catches him, before he’s completely at the whim of gravity. 

 

His back meets coolness, and someone gently presses his head downwards, his brain vaguely registering with the motion that he’s just almost fainted. With it, his mind starts to kick in and he takes shallow deep breaths, someone offering him a pat on the back as he does before he’s left to clear his own mind.

 

It subsides layer by layer, the curling pixels in his vision melting from black to grey as it clears. The room slides into view, and the nausea slowly reduces, Lance eternally grateful he didn’t actually throw up. 

 

“Hey buddy, how you doing? It’s a pretty bad crash, right?”

 

Lance peers to his left and sees Hunk sitting next to him. They’re against the steel wall, much like when Lance first arrived to see Pidge and Hunk below him from the lion. 

 

“I’m...okay,” Lance says, swallowing around his words, steadying his stomach as it rolls. 

 

“You will be in a moment, it passes quickly. Some sort of energy zap from wearing those suit things. Pidge and I had it too, and the others are suffering,” he says, gesturing forward. 

 

Lance slowly turns to look away, following Hunk’s movement. Across the room, Shiro is slumped with his head back, and Keith is hunched over, almost gripping his hair. Both look utterly miserable, and Lance can sympathise, he doesn’t feel much better. 

 

Pidge wanders over, sitting down, bumping him with their knee as a way of comfort. Lance manages a smile in their direction, raising his head slightly, reveling in the settling as the exhaustion subsides. 

 

“So, congratulations on literally swooning into Keith’s arms,” Pidge says, voice low but full of smirk and mischief. 

 

Lance stills, body freezing with red hot fear as his mind puts together the words. He’d been right up in Keith’s face when he almost passed out, fallen forward onto the closest thing…

 

_ Oh no. _

 

“Oh yes,” Pidge says, looking ever more elated as Lance becomes ever more horrified. 

 

Lance makes a noise, something between a whimper and a groan. This is bad. Really, uncomfortably bad, that he’s literally fallen into the arms of his teenage crush who's been nothing but a pain in his ass since he magically appeared from the dead less than 24 hours ago. 

 

And what’s more, he doesn’t even remember it. 

 

Pidge however is happy to reveal, without prompting, what happened. 

 

“You pretty much fell into his chest, he looked terrified. But once Hunk reassured him it happened to us, he half carried you over here. Not quite bridal style, but some definite cradling. Then he wiped out himself, so unfortunately, your romantic daydreams ended,” they say, dodging out of the way as Lance swipes at them with a rather limp hand. 

 

He feels himself burn with embarrassment, as really, falling into Keith’s arms sounds rather spectacular, but also hideously terrible at the same time. So Lance does the only thing he can think of, and switches topics. 

 

“So, you think this is a reaction to the suit things?” Lance says returning to Hunk’s previous words. 

 

Thankfully Pidge runs with this train of thought, and jumps in:

 

“We think so. Think it’s a reaction to whatever that was, the lions combining with us, making us their Paladins. We now have...some sort of sentient being in our heads that fused with our bodies, and it most likely took a toll on us.” 

 

Lance hums in agreement, feeling better with each second. Shiro has moved to sit closer to Keith, who has now stopped gripping his hair in favour of just staring at the floor as if it holds the secrets of the universe. 

 

Lance stares for a second, then jolts when he realises Shiro has caught his gaze. Lance fights a flush, but Shiro just smiles, clapping Keith on the shoulder once before standing slowly and making his way over to the three of them. Lance feels himself pull up straighter out of habit, still ingrained from the days before when he was their superior.

 

“Lance right? I remember you. Good to see you again,” Shiro says, sitting before them and holding his human hand out for Lance to shake.

 

Lance smiles and takes it gratefully, a little amazed Shiro actually remembers him. Shiro turns to Hunk, whom he also remembers, and Lance realises Shiro is just a one of a kind individual; someone who takes the time to learn and recall people he meets, not just pick and choose those he interacts with based on merit. 

 

Keith staggers over and joins them, the five sitting in an exhausted circle. They exchange a few looks, not really sure where to begin or what to do. They are various degrees of strangers and friends, a mad mix of people thrown into a strange and potentially dangerous situation. 

 

Shiro however clears his throat, taking the natural step of breaking the silence with a smile. 

 

“Well, I think as we have been requested to stay put, now would be a good time to catch up on what happened today,” he says to begin. 

 

Lance feels himself nodding, although it seems as if more than today needs to be explained. However, Hunk speaks before he can articulate that. 

 

“Also, umm...you both aren’t dead?” he says, his voice lilting like a question. 

 

Shiro chuckles but it’s a dark laughter, nothing pleasant living in the tone, which causes Lance to shudder. But Shiro’s pose and face stay relatively light, obviously trying to maintain calm in the face of what he experienced. 

 

“No, I’m not dead, although I’m curious as to why you thought Keith was,” Shiro says, turning to Keith with a raised eyebrow. 

 

To Lance’s surprise, Keith glances away from Shiro, sporting an expression Lance knows well from the times he’s been admonished by his mum. It is strange seeing Keith look that way, but Shiro just shakes his head and turns back to the group. 

 

“As I’m guessing you know, I was on a mission to a nearby solar system, a planet on the edges of the Empire. We hadn’t visited in a while, so it was meant to be fairly routine, standard for what I’d done before. But when we got there, something was different,” Shiro says.

 

He pauses in story, shifting into a more comfortable position as he speaks. Lance cannot help but be drawn to the arm, Galra made and so alien even among the strange place they found themselves in now. Keith shifts closer to Shiro, obviously trying to give comfort by his presence. 

 

“The planet seemed fine for the first day, but we noticed even then the high levels of security. Being chaperoned constantly, guards on all doors, and whenever we went out people seemed...too normal. Like looking at a movie of real life. I was suspicious, as were my team, but they were hesitant to do anything with such close observation. So I took it upon myself.” 

 

There’s a pause, and Shiro takes in all their expressions; Lance knows he’s terrified, the perfect mix of on the edge of his seat wanting to stop the story, but equally unable to stop listening. 

 

“It turned out that the planet had tried to overthrow the Galra’s authority a year previously, and the entire population was enslaved, the leaders publicly executed in horrific manners. The people were being worked until they died in mines deep under the surface, specifically for one substance they called ‘the dust,’ although it was liquid. The conditions were...beyond imagination. People died where they worked of exhaustion and accidents, sickness was rampant and punishments were always death.” 

 

Shiro shudders, trailing off, his Galra tech arm pulsing slightly as he does. He flinches, as do all the group apart from Keith, who simply stares at it more closely, like a puzzle to be solved. Shiro lets out a breath, then continues his tale. 

 

“I was caught, and this is where it becomes...confusing. I don’t remember much other than flashes after Galra sentries took me out of the mine. My arm has obviously been replaced with something else, and I wasn’t always in the room Keith found me in. And there’s been a voice...for a while now, which I believe was Black. I think these...creatures have been watching us for some time.” 

 

Silence reigns as he finishes speaking. Lance pulls his knees up to his chest, the exhausted nausea vanished and replaced with a type of anticipatory queasiness. He looks up at Blue, her voice quiet since they arrived, but her presence is undoubtedly still there, taking up her own corner of his mind. 

 

How long had she been planning this? Was it just as Shiro assumed, and had she been deliberately trying to find Lance? He isn’t sure, can’t imagine why he of all people is suited for whatever the lions are trying to do. And what exactly is that? Blue mentioned Voltron, but Lance has no idea what that means at all. 

 

And Shiro’s description of the other planet causes something to slot into place within his own head. The thoughts he’d had previously of how wrong their own set up was with the Galra seem confirmed, now it is clear another planet is being controlled and manipulated by them. So what did this mean for Earth? And what did it mean now he’d escaped whatever they were planning for him?

 

However, there is no time to further ponder or discuss, for the tell-tale sound of a craft arriving reaches their ears. Keith is on his feet in an instant, Lance scrabbling to be second and the others following suit. Lance feels his every muscle brace for impact, as what looks like a shuttle lands in the hanger, the colour scheme similar to the large ship itself. Although they are expecting the woman, they can’t be sure and he’s having to trust that if there truly were a threat, Blue would alert him. 

 

Strange how much of his trust now relies on a sentient being in his head. 

 

The door of the pod opens, and sure enough, the woman from the projection gracefully steps out, immediately marching towards them. A moment later a man literally pops out, striding to follow, wearing a pale blue uniform and with the most startling orange hair Lance has ever seen. His moustache is the most impressive feature of his face, and although he looks gravely serious, there is something about his eyes, the light behind them, which seems to dance and jolt, depicting a hopefulness of the situation Lance is grateful for. 

 

Especially seeing as the woman looks furious. 

 

She stops before them, then turns slowly to the five gigantic lions. Her face does not change, the grave and angry look not disappearing as she takes in the spectacle. She’s extremely tall Lance notes, towering above all of them both in height, and the way she handles herself. _ An Empress _ his mind whispers again, although he has no confirmation of this. 

 

She is incredibly beautiful in the flesh as well; if Lance’s mind wasn’t already full of mullet-braids and violet eyes, he’d probably have fallen for her on sight. 

 

Once she’s finished her appraisal, she turns to the group, piercing eyes assessing them carefully. Then, she sighs bodily, her whole self seeming to sag under a great weight. 

 

“Well, this is awful and incredibly, incredibly wrong. But I suppose we should make the most of it,” she says, lilting voice resigned. 

 

Lance exchanges a look with Hunk. They’ve obviously been found wanting, but there is clearly something deeper than this. Shiro steps forward then, causing the woman to blink in what Lance believes is surprise. 

 

“On behalf of all of us, I’d like to apologies for intruding in this place. We were brought here from Earth, and I’m afraid we don’t know much of our own situation. But we will do what we can to help with...whatever appears to be happening,” Shiro says, fumbling a little with the last sentence, the lack of information obviously causing problems. 

 

The woman blinks again, before a small smile slowly forms. She shakes her head once. 

 

“If you were brought here, you are not intruding. And I do value your cooperation. I am not familiar with Earth, but that I believe can be easily solved. What should I call you?” 

 

“I’m Shiro,” he says, then gestures to the rest of them, each stepping up to recite their names. The woman nods each time, taking in their introductions.

 

“And I am Princess Allura of Altea, and this is my adviser, Coran,” she says, gesturing to the man behind her, who bows. 

 

At her utterance, Keith twitches and Pidge lets out something akin to a nervous laugh. 

 

“Altea? That’s not...that’s not real,” Pidge says, then clasps their hands over their mouth as if they could push the words back in. 

 

The Princess however, doesn’t seem offended. She exchanges a glance with Coran, who sighs deeply. 

 

“I take it you’re all from a Galra controlled planet?” he asks, to which they all nod. 

 

The Princess moves then, walks past them and to the wall behind. She touches it, just a simple placement of a hand, and the door parts. Lance jumps, having not even noticed the seam in the wall as any indication it could part. 

 

“We have much to discuss, then. Please, follow me,” Allura says without looking back. 

 

Pidge turns to look at him, their eyes gleeful in the prospect of something new and undiscovered. Hunk looks terrified, and Keith grim. Shiro looks as resolute as ever though, and follows immediately, Keith not more than two steps behind. Pidge practically runs to catch up, with Lance and Hunk falling into step behind. He senses Coran bringing up the rear, and the door closing behind smoothly as they do. Next to him, Hunk gulps. 

 

“What do you think Pidge means?” he whispers to Lance. 

 

But Lance can only shrug in reply, intrigued that both Pidge and Keith reacted to the word ‘Altea.’ It isn’t something Lance is familiar with, but Pidge is a master of obscure information. Keith though? He’s not so sure. The man is still wrapped in mystery, his own tale not told. And every moment he’s not aware of the past, Lance is ever more curious about Keith Kogane’s whereabouts over the last five years.

 

Once again though, Lance pulls himself back from diving there too deeply. It’s not the right time or place to be distracted, so instead he focuses on their route. As he imagined, this ship is huge. The corridor they are travelling along is wide enough for four abreast, a pristine white that looks smooth and clean. However, the slightly musty air which permeates suggests no one has been here in many years, and the echo of their footsteps confirms they are truly alone in this vast space. 

 

The corridor turns into what is mostly likely the heart of the ship, judging by the wide doors ahead. Once again, Allura simply places a hand against them and they slide open, barely a noise at the change. The room beyond though has Lance gasping. 

 

It must be the ship’s bridge; a wide open space with a half moon control panel he imagines must be collecting dust in the upper half of the room. But it’s the windows that catch his heart in his throat: the stars sprawl through them, the inky blue once more in his vision, still just as encompassing and obsessive as it had seemed when travelling in Blue. Lance wanders towards them in a trance, drawn inexplicably to their light. 

 

He is snapped out of his trance though by a holoscreen leaping to life. Lance looks towards the control panel, where Allura now stands, displays of star systems before her. She turns back to the images, allowing the five of them to crowd around before her. Coran stands to her left, eyes on the group with a kind smile. 

 

“Pidge, you were surprised to hear of my own world, Altea. Can you tell me what you know of it?” 

 

Pidge glances around, then nods. 

 

“I don’t really know much. It’s just a story, something I heard as a kid. Some sort of Galra cautionary tale they tried to tell me.  Altea was once a planet, but it created technology which turned on it, destroying everyone. I think. Or something about that. It was told to stop you from being too adventurous,” Pidge says with a shrug. 

 

Allura laughs then, shaking her head. Then, she turns to Keith. 

 

“Keith?” 

 

Keith looks towards them all, then nods. “I heard something similar, but it wasn’t a cautionary tale. More of a legend? That the Altean were once as powerful as the Galra, but they destroyed themselves, just as Pidge said. But people have these artifacts they swear are Altean, things like that,” he says with a shrug. 

 

“Where did you hear that?” Lance cannot help but ask. Keith just glares at him from across the room, and Lance rolls his eyes. He’s never heard of any of this, and Keith just gives something without an explanation, it is natural to ask. 

 

“It doesn’t matter. What I’m interested in is how the Galra mention Altea. For Altea is real, and was the first planet to stand up against the Galran Empire.” 

 

With this she turns towards the control panel, hands flying rapidly over controls as a new starscapes appears. Lance peers at it, the unfamiliar worlds meaning nothing to his eyes. 

 

“This was our galaxy, where Daibazaal, the Galra home-world is, along with Altea,” she says, the screen zooming in on two planets. Lance frowns. 

 

“But I thought the Galra homeworld was destroyed?” he says, Hunk nodding beside him. 

 

It’s basic history as the Galra taught it. Their own world was destroyed, so they created the

Empire to ensure no planet ever suffered the way they had, by providing safety and technology to all the planets they allied with. 

 

That was their story, anyway. One Lance is sure will soon be disproved. 

 

Allura nods in agreement though. “Practically. This is it now.” 

 

She spins her hands and an image springs up; a planet with what looks like a huge gash through it, the earth cleaved straight through, ground burned as if everything around has been cauterised. There are no signs of life, just husks of what may have been buildings and plant life, everything charred and stripped of any vitality. Even the air seems tainted, toxic looking clouds of sickly green colour surrounding in a haze. Lance grimaces; it did indeed appear as a world of death. 

 

“It is uninhabited, unable to support life. But it is not completely destroyed. And here, is Altea,” she says, zooming out and indicating to a blank area of space in the galaxy they’d seen before. However, when she zoomed in, the area seems to change; a planet coming into focus which was otherwise cloaked, much like this ship. 

 

However, there is something strange about the image. 

 

The planet and surrounding areas seem frozen; small fragments of rock appear to be flying outwards, almost bursting but unmoving. As Lance looks closer, he seems almost certain he’s watching an explosion in slow motion, but nothing truly changing, leaving him with the sense he’s seeing an optical illusion. 

 

“Is it...paused?” Hunk says, drawing closer to take a look. 

 

Allura stares at her planet for a beat before turning back to them. 

 

“In a fashion, yes. The Galra destroyed our world, but my father foresaw this; he put in place a failsafe in case something like this were to occur. Altea is cloaked and preserved in the moments just before the destruction. The Galra believe they succeeded as they cannot find it. But it is in stasis, as there is something the Galra stole which would help us reverse the process and save our people.” 

 

At this she turns to them all, and Lance knows what she’s going to say even before the words emerge. 

 

“That something, is Voltron. Which is where you come in.”

 

At this, Coran springs into life, jumping forward and smiling. 

 

“Voltron was the protector of Altea. Well, of our whole galaxy really, such is its potential. It was designed by King Alfor, a visionary in technology who created the being, fusing it with both matter and life,” he says, voice as energetic as body, prancing as he spoke in a way that made Lance slightly dizzy. 

 

“However, when the Galra attacked, they stole it. We’re not sure how, but we think they had a device which invaded it’s consciousness, disabled it from the inside. Hence why the final fail safe was triggered. Myself, the Princess and others scattered across the galaxy have been searching for it for years, trying our best to help stop the Galra invasion.”

 

Both Coran and Allura sigh then, looking between one another. 

 

“It has not been easy. The Galra out number us, devastatingly. We are not sure of their aims outside of control and destruction. We do not doubt they have them, though. Emperor Zarkon was always one who had a grand plan. And we thought Voltron to be completely lost, but now we have found it in a… curious state,” Coran says, finishing with a contemplative tone. 

 

“Err, what do you mean?” Lance says, ready to finally have some answers. 

 

Allura’s face is grim as she begins. “Voltron is one entity. Yet it is now somehow five, and you all seem to be...joined to it somehow. Whatever the Galra did they...they literally split it into pieces, took apart it’s limbs and it’s mind,” she says, stumbling over the words. 

 

“Torture,” Shiro says, the word echoing between them, his robotic arm clenching as he spoke. 

 

Lance closes his eyes against the truth, against the moment he finds himself in. Unconsciously, he reaches for Blue, wishing for a comfort from the lion to steel himself from reality. She hums almost immediately at his summons. 

 

_ Do not feel sad, my Paladin. The Princess is correct, but you are helping us. That is the bargain we struck; to help us become Voltron once again. _

 

He opens his eyes to find Allura facing him, her eyes narrowed in a way that indicates she is aware what he’s doing. He flushes under the look, but she offers a smile, her features softening with something akin to relief. 

 

“It appears you already have strong bonds. I am not sure why they need or have chosen you all in particular. It will take some time to analyse what has occured and any damage done. But we will have to do it fast. As I am sure you can imagine, the Galra will know you have Voltron, and will be looking for you.” 

 

Lance gulps, panic rising subtly but steadily. His mind veers back to the cell, shooting that soldier without pause. The way the blood spread, the look of confusion in his eyes as he realised he was about to die, that Lance had killed him…

 

Lance swallows burning bile. He’s unsteady, the world seemingly to totter despite remaining solid. He’s not sure how to deal with the cold blooded death on his hands. Or with the small voice in his mind warning him it will most likely not be the last. 

 

“What do we do?” Keith says, his voice bringing Lance back to reality. 

 

Keith looks ready, determined. Lance takes a sense of comfort from that. His mind maybe reeling, his world maybe tipping, but if someone else in the same situation is ready to take up the fight, perhaps he can do it as well. He may not be the prodigy that is Keith, the hero that is Shiro, the genius that is Pidge and the steady intelligence that is Hunk but...he is a Paladin. He’ll just need to comfort himself with that until he can work out fully what this means. 

 

Allura claps her hands with a smile, the gesture seeming at odds with the commanding Princess he’s met. It occurs him in that moment how young Allura must be; perhaps not too far off his own age. And to have her planet, frozen on the verge of destruction, tasked with finding a guarding so far lost...it must be a lot to deal with. 

 

“Coran and I will run diagnostics on the lions, to see what we can do. It would be helpful as well to find out more about your world, and the Galra’s presence there. We’ll also help train you; it appears you each have a mental connection with your lions, feeding off one another. A symbiotic relationship, if you will. That will help you connect to your lion but you will also need to develop a connection with one another to combine all five parts. You’ll need to truly understand one another, get into each other’s heads. But for now, I suggest you rest,” she says, kind smile growing. 

 

She steps away, dismissing the screens, which fade immediately. Lance feels his whole self almost sigh at the prospect of rest. His body shutting down earlier had been a warning a recovery is needed, and he finds himself suddenly acknowledging the weariness in his mind and soul. 

 

“Rest? If the Galra are coming shouldn’t we be prepared?” Keith says, almost blocking Allura’s path as she walks towards them. 

 

However, she shakes her head, resting a hand on his shoulder briefly. Lance feels a thrill go through him, hot and ugly at the contact. He tries to knock it away but it simmers, seeping through him fully even as Allura speaks. 

 

“While I appreciate the sentiment, we are protected here. It will take the Galra time to find us, and I plan on flying to a different location while you rest. You cannot fight when exhausted, Keith. Take care of your mind and body, so when the battle comes you will be ready,” she says, stepping past as she finishes. 

 

Keith looks as if he may argue, but Shiro shakes his head, and Keith seems to rethink any rebuttal. He looks up to see Lance staring, immediately offering a sour look before turning on his heel and following Allura. Lance grimaces, still feeling the burn of the wicked feeling as they follow Allura out. 

 

Coran and Shiro discuss human sleeping needs as they walk, and within a few moments they arrive at a series of small rooms, each randomly assigned one by Shiro and Allura, before Lance can really comprehend what’s happening. 

 

Hunk is across the hallway directly opposite him, with Pidge in the room to Hunk’s left. Keith is next door to his right and Shiro to his left. They bid each other goodnight, all except Keith, seemingly suffering from the same instant fatigue which has crept up on Lance who enters his room with barely a word. Lance hugs Hunk and high fives Pidge as usual, the action almost bringing tears to his eyes at the familiarity despite the strangeness. 

 

Lance is so exhausted when the door of his room slides open he barely has the energy to look around. He registers that the room is extremely bare, but that’s comforting. All the rooms back home were bare, all uniformly created for humans by the Galra. He notices a pair of pajamas on the bed, which are amusingly blue, so swiftly gets changed before diving into the sheets. 

 

It’s odd. The ship makes no noise when he feels it should be a constant whirr of machinery, like his family home near the fields. He has a sudden pang of longing for home...what must his family think? Has he just vanished? Lance turns over, eyes burning. That is likely to be the case, seeing as his grandmother just vanished one day. People disappear and you do not ask. His parents are probably privately worried, but they will never try and find him. It’s embedded, he’d reacted the same way. They are so controlled by their overlords there is no room for questioning. 

 

He flips to the other side, trying to find some sort of comfort which will calm his mind into the sleep he can feel pushing him down. He mulls over the words Allura said before they parted, a comfort in the thought of the future rather than the home he’s left behind. 

 

_ You’ll need to truly understand one another, get into each other’s heads. _

 

And Lance’s eyes snap open, as a new torrent of worry seeps through, a sudden rush of hysteria. 

 

For his head has been full of Keith since the moment he flew into his life in the desert, and blew open wide all his ideals, perceptions and beliefs. And it appears there is no sign of stopping it. 

 

Lance whines to himself, trying to shut out everything. He’ll need to find a way of controlling this crush, and quickly, before everyone starts digging inside his head.    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday, Lance! I gave you some cradling :) 
> 
> Feedback is welcome and appreciated!
> 
> For previews and general Klance ramblings, find me on on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/), [Tumblr](http://enlacinglineswrites.tumblr.com) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/enlacinglines/).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Lance melts, his eyes threatening to draw tears, as that’s both heartbreaking and adorable. He wants to wrap Keith in his arms, promise whatever it takes to keep joy on his face, to figure out exactly what’s changed him and face it by his side. 
> 
> Lance slides into a chair, the warmth inside abating slightly. Well, there’s the answer about my feelings, he thinks to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely support of this story! It really means a lot. 
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

Lance dreams of the ocean. A real ocean; swelling for miles in a perfect, crystal clean blue, the most blue he’s ever seen in one place. There are no walls by this ocean; no Enclosure boxing the water in, it’s just free, flaring and sweeping backwards and forwards before his eyes. 

 

“Lance...Lance!”

 

He turns, remaining where he is somewhere in the middle of this ocean, as he hears his mother’s voice. She’s just a few feet away, bracketed by water which is slowly rising. As he blinks, his brother and sister join, all standing still while the water climbs. 

 

Lance feels worry spark. He’s heard of...downing? No, drowning, just once. There were not vast areas of water in the Enclosure so it was rare someone died related to it. But when he was in school, one of his classmates father’s had slipped in the shower, passing out and drowning in a freak accident when no one was home. 

 

Yet here his family stood, his mother still calling his name quietly as the water rose, threatening to cover them. 

 

_ You can't breathe underwater  _ he thought, knowing it is an obvious statement, but his family appear to have forgotten. So he tries to move forward, part the waves and run towards them, to help move them out of danger. But the ocean is against him; that beloved substance of his dreams now as brutal as the iron walls which have kept him inside all his life. He cannot reach them, cannot move, cannot seem to slip through the water like he should. 

 

“Lance, why did you leave us. What have you done?” Veronica asks, the water now up to her neck. 

 

“You left us here. Left us to die,” his mother says, her mouth filling with blue as she speaks. 

 

He has no voice in this dream, no power of rebuttal; he wants to tell them he hasn’t, that he’ll come back, he had to leave. A thousand reasons on his tongue, locked away with no key in the bottom of his throat. 

 

All he can do is watch as they swallow sea, waves covering them as they stare, unblinking at him. His heart aches as it beats within him, four times larger than it should be, words scratching to escape his throat as he is unable to push them to the surface. 

 

“Your turn now,” says a voice behind him. 

 

And Lance’s body unlocks as he turns to see the Galra soldier he killed. His chest and mouth are seeping blood, the dark colour staining the water below rapidly, and Lance knows he’ll soon be covered in it. The Galra holds out a gun, the very gun Lance killed him with, and laughs as he shoots-

 

Lance springs awake screaming. 

 

He continues to scream until his voice breaks with the effort, throat coated in acid. His stomach revolts, and he leaps from the bed with his hand over his mouth, running to the bathroom. He just about makes it, regurgitating mostly bile, and half sobbing into the sink as the dream abates. 

 

It takes a few shaky breaths, but Lance steadies himself. He rises slowly, washing out his mouth and the sink, only belatedly wondering if the water here is drinkable. He leans back and surveys himself, the automatic lights having turned on once he entered the room. 

 

He is in a word, a wreck. Hair on end, eyes red rimmed and highlighted in bruises due to lack of sleep, skin sickly and not helped by the off-white lights. Lance shivers, feeling an overwhelming sense of sadness course through, now he’s away from the horror of his own mind. 

 

He exits the bathroom, not sure what to do now. His body tells him he needs more sleep, but he’s a little afraid of what his mind will conjure in dreams. The room suddenly feels too small, too not his own, and too much a reminder of all he’s left behind by agreeing to a plan so foolish that, in this eerie white light, he can barely believe himself. 

 

Blue chooses that moment to rise in his mind. A purr somewhat soothing, but also with a whiff of determination, urging him forward and onwards to their goal. Only in this moment, it’s too much for Lance. He grimaces, shaking his head and stumbles towards the door, hitting the key pad and gasping for relief as he tumbles outside. Here the lights are sharper and it feels like he can has more air, even though logically it’s all the same heavily recycled substance. 

 

However, Lance inhales hard, standing straighter than before. It’s then he hears a throat clearing, and spins around rapidly, making himself dizzy in the process. 

 

Of course Keith is standing there. And his hair’s loose. 

 

It looks pretty knotty if Lance is telling the truth, which makes sense; he didn’t exactly get to pack a hairbrush. But Keith’s long hair now just touches past his shoulders, the shorter parts causing the mullet-ish look to make slightly more sense now. Lance still isn’t sure why he’s styled it in such heavy layers, but it does work. And by work, it has Lance itching to feel it, to smooth away every tangle and snag as carefully as he can. 

 

“Lance?” 

 

And Lance realises Keith has been talking while he’s been staring agape at his hair. Fantastic. 

 

“What are you doing here?” Lance says, snappier than intended. 

 

Keith frowns, stance shifting to crossed armed and annoyed looking. 

 

“My room is right next to yours, and I was coming back when you ran out here. What were you doing?” he says, tone peeved, quite rightly if Lance is being logical. 

 

But he cannot just tell Keith he’s running from nightmares which have him vomiting his tears and feelings into an alien sink. He just can’t. 

 

“Coming back from where?” Lance asks, leaning back against his own door. 

 

He expects Keith to argue, to pick up on Lance’s avoidance of the question. But he doesn’t, simply looks at Lance for a moment longer before releasing his arms and shrugging. 

 

“Exploring. I found what looks like some sort of training room, which will be useful,” he says. 

 

“A training room. That’s what you think is most useful? Not fresh clothes or food?” Lance says, suddenly really wanting to brush his teeth. 

 

Keith sighs then shrugs again. 

 

“Honestly, yes, it does. But we do need food too. Come on, let’s go find something.” 

 

And with that he’s walking, leaving Lance with little choice but to follow. He chases after Keith’s long strides until they are side by side, although Lance doesn’t actually know where they are going. He’s not sure Keith does either, with the way he stops at each corner, peering to make sure there’s nothing suspicious before continuing forward. 

 

Or perhaps he’s on the lookout for danger. Something slides into Lance’s stomach at that, hot and thick as tar. The Keith of his memories, the one he fell ridiculously for as a teen, was reckless in the way he threw himself full force into everything and anything; no sense of caution or measure, from zero to one hundred in a few seconds. It’s something Lance adored; that quick thinking, someone who didn’t get tangled in their own questioning like he did. But Keith was also smart; he worked hard, spent his waking hours on flight training and homework, almost obsessively. Lance admired that too, for his own concentration as a teen had never been that diligent. 

 

This Keith he walks beside is changed. Understandably, Lance is also not the same person he was at 17. But this Keith seems more...forced. It’s the only word Lance can think of. Keith is measured, on alert lance realises, as he scans constantly through the clearly empty corridor. He’s waiting for an attack, but not running headfirst into it. He also looks worn, Lance thinks, as he tries to subtly study him. Not just the tired which Lance feels, but as if a part of Keith has been chipped away, stripped off piece by piece and replaced by whatever falls. 

 

Lance swallows. He doesn’t know what’s happened to Keith, how he managed to survive Outside for five years. Although the world is not as inhospitable as Lance has always been taught, it still could not have been easy or welcoming away from all civilization. 

 

Was he alone? That picture has his heart crawling, hair standing on end at the thought of trying to survive so remotely away from anything and anyone. He remembers Keith was an orphan, something one of his classmates had got a rightful fist to face for making fun of him for when they were younger. So without Shiro, did Keith just drift in the desert for years?

 

Or are there others like Keith who escaped? Suddenly the question is too burning and he must ask, his sanity depends on it. 

 

“Where were you? All this time?” Lance says. 

 

Keith pauses in his observations. They’re near a set of doors which lead to what looks like a new area of the ship, although there’s no indication of what area it might be. Keith turns fully to Lance, hair moving distractingly with him. He nods once, as if steeling himself for the tale and Lance braces too, automatically on edge for the reveal. 

 

Then the door behind Keith opens and Coran appears. 

 

“Ah. number two and number four! It’s only been a few hours, I was informed by number 1 you humans needed more rest than that,” he says, peering between them. 

 

“Err, I tried to sleep but...couldn’t,” Lance says. 

 

Coran nods sympathetically. 

 

“It’s been quite a journey for you all! Number 1 is also awake, so I have a feeling the others will be joining us shortly. Come on in, we’ll get you something to eat and drink.” 

 

Lance’s stomach responds to this and he hears Keith snort with laughter. Lance is a little embarrassed so sticks out his tongue as he walks by, forgetting for a moment he’s 22 and this probably isn’t how he should behave around his crush. 

 

The thoughts stall his mind though. Is Keith his crush? Sure, that had been the case years ago but he’s older, still doesn’t know where Keith has been all this time. Can you still have feelings like that through time and distance?

 

He muses on this as they enter what is clearly a kitchen, a huge pristine white table in the centre. It turns out ‘Number one 1’ is Shiro, who is pouring over a tablet with a mug next to him. He smiles and waves as they enter. Keith’s face lights up, and he strides forward, immediately taking the seat next to him. He looks years younger as he does, and Lance is struck suddenly by the hopeful and open expression of Keith’s face. 

 

He wasn’t sure Shiro would be here. 

 

And Lance melts, his eyes threatening to draw tears, as that’s both heartbreaking and adorable. He wants to wrap Keith in his arms, promise whatever it takes to keep joy on his face, to figure out exactly what’s changed him and face it by his side. 

 

Lance slides into a chair, the warmth inside abating slightly.  _ Well, there’s the answer about my feelings, _ he thinks to himself. 

 

Shiro’s explaining something to Keith on the screen, and Coran is making an obscene amount of noise in the kitchen area, both with his loud humming and the clashing of receptacles, so Lance lets himself take stock for a moment. It’s then he realises there’s been a gentle pushing at his mind for a while, someone knocking to get it. 

 

“Hey girl,” he says to Blue, words barely articulated. 

 

Blue hesitates, almost as if testing he really means it, before she envelopes him; it feels like being covered in a blanket, a surrounding of himself within her existence. 

 

_ My Paladin. You are not rested. Your mind is struggling. _

 

Lance feels heavy. He doesn’t know how to explain this to a sentient being split into five parts, one of them residing in his head. But since they are sharing the space, he must try. 

 

“Yeah, Blue. Yesterday was pretty stressful. It’s gonna take a while to...recover, I guess.” 

 

_ If ever _ , his mind supplies as Lance is not sure he will ever recover from killing that guard. He’s not even sure if he wants to, what that would mean for him. Blue is silent though, and Lance feels as if she’s contemplating this, working out what it means for the both of them. 

 

He jumps slightly when Coran puts a steaming mug of dark liquid before him. He sniffs it, slightly wary, but it does smell like coffee, if a little sweeter. 

 

“Here you go! I’ve been studying human culture while you were resting, now we’ve located your planet. I believe you need this stimulant to function normally,” he says, almost proudly. 

 

Lance is once again dubious, but he’s exhausted and anything similar to coffee sounds like pure ambrosia. As he’s about to take a sip, the door opens and Pidge, Hunk and the Princess enter the room, proving Coran’s assessment correct. 

 

The next few minutes are a flurry of greetings as all of them settle down at the table like a strange quasi family about to have breakfast. Lance’s tired and overstimulated mind isn’t quite sure how to deal with this, so numbly just follows, staying out of the conversation, watching it from afar. He gathers Allura explaining they need to start practicing something to do with Voltron, but he can’t seem to focus on the precise sentences. It all unfolds a few meters away, through a bubble he can’t penetrate, Lance just stuck on the outside. 

 

“Well, in the time you’ve been resting, we’ve been searching for ‘Earth.’ We haven’t located it yet, it seems to be in an area we’d previously not thought the Galra had reached. But I think we’re close,” Coran says with a triumphant grin, sitting down.

 

Allura offers a thankful smile. 

 

“Yes, good work, Coran. I’ve been running scans on the Lions too. It’s quite interesting,” Allura begins. 

 

Pidge looks up from where they’ve been sipping their ‘coffee’, the motion so abrupt it catches Lance’s attention. 

 

“Scans? Can I take a look?” they ask, pure excitement in their tone. 

 

“Of course,” Allura answers, tapping on a holoscreen so the numbers flash up in 3D. 

 

Pidge makes a gleeful noise, peering so close they are nose to nose with the numbers. Lance can’t make head nor tail of it, although Hunk seems to be scrutinising it with interest. He notices Keith has that glazed over look of someone who is not so into millions of equations, and Lance’s mind rejoices a little at having that in common. 

 

“Princess, can you tell us what you’ve found?” Shiro says, and Lance nods in agreement. 

 

“Well, if I’m honest, it’s not that much. We’ll continue monitoring the Lions, but we’ve made a start. It seems that whatever the Galra did either forced them into pieces or they reacted by separating themselves. The result is that each part of Voltron has developed its own identity, in a way. And each of these identities have found a similarity in you,” she says, looking at each of them in turn

 

“So it’s like...different parts of it’s personality?” Hunk says, distilling the information. 

 

“Rightly so, Number 5! Voltron was built to represent many things, but now each Lion or part is an embodiment of that. And it felt kindred with each one of you, which is why you are it’s...what was the word you used?” Coran says, turning to Shiro. 

 

“Paladin,” he says, and Lance’s eyes spring up. He notices all around the room they look shocked, each amazed the other is called the same name. A strange connection.

 

“The Paladins of Voltron...fitting,” Allura says, looking brighter than Lance has seen her so far. 

 

She changes the data display, an image of all five lions appearing, symbols of another language, presumably her own, written beside them. 

 

“Coran and I are currently running tests of all of the Lions to help you learn more about your connections with them, as you seem to all be an intricate part of their current make up. You are all connected with the Lions in your minds, therefore to make Voltron you must unite together. It seems that the lions represent different body parts: Blue and Yellow are the legs, Red and Green the arms, and Black is the head. You will each therefore have different roles when you come together.” 

 

Lance stares at the image of his Lion, the huge bulking vehicle he travelled into deep space within. His mind cannot comprehend exactly how he suddenly becomes a leg of all things.

 

“When do we start practicing?” Keith says suddenly, and Lance cannot help but roll his eyes. Keith notices, crossing his arms and scowling in his direction. 

 

“We need to be prepared,” he says, and Lance knows it’s directed at him. 

 

“Sure but we’ve literally just woken up man, chill,” Lance says, the words coming out a little more dismissively than intended. Keith looks as if he’s about to argue back, and Lance is oh so ready, but Shiro cuts in. 

 

“Keith’s right, we should be prepared. But let’s take it slow, okay? This is all new and we’re all tired.”

 

Lance zones out as Allura excitedly launches into a plan of action, which involves the word ‘mind meld,’ which conjures all sorts of horrific images. He can feel himself slipping back into the weird head-space, the world thinning and blurring, until Pidge claps him rather painfully on the shoulder, their fingers digging in. All at once, the world rushes back. 

 

“Have you tried this?” they practically screech at him, indicating to their empty mug. 

 

Lance shakes his head, but immediately takes a sip of his imitation coffee, hoping the familiarity will have a grounding affect. He was right, it is sweet, but not overly. That honey sweetness which gives a mild, light flavour without sticking to his teeth. The drink itself is rich, deep and perhaps would be bitter without the sweetener, reminding him more of dark chocolate. 

 

Suddenly, his eyes are wide and is fingers twitch. His heart starts to race, his feet tap and Lance is just  _ ready _ . He thinks he could fly Blue to infinity, solve that math equation he got stuck on in his final exams, and wants to launch across the room and tell Keith he’s beautiful-

 

“What is this?” Lance says, voice high and incredulous, his feet unable to stop moving. 

 

Coran is across the room near Allura, looking perplexed. 

 

“A mild flavoured stimulant in liquid form, just like your coffee. Is it not right?” 

 

Pidge grins maniacally, an entire empty mug before then. 

 

“It’s _ brilliant _ .”

 

* * *

 

Lance is staring at a shifting image of a giant boxy robot projected on a screen inside Blue. He peers at it closely, nose almost pressed to the revolving image. It’s...not as high tech as he was expecting really. Lance isn’t sure what he was expecting, but perhaps something sleeker, all wires and roundness full of chrome and silver edging. Voltron is a mix match of colours fitted together in a dramatic fashion that has Lance wondering how exactly his Lion robot can even morph into a leg. 

 

It’s baffling to say the least, and Lance might still be jittery from the one sip of alien coffee, but his body still craves rest. However, Blue is elated. As soon as Princess Allura had beamed the image to them, his Lion had filled his mind with contentment and joy. Blue wants to be whole again, and Lance can’t blame her. But the specifics of how they achieve that are still to be learned. 

 

_ You will do this, my Paladin. I came to you for a reason.  _

 

“Yeah, why was that?” Lance asks, sitting back in the pilot's chair, eyes still focused on Voltron. 

 

_ We are compatible.  _

 

Lance cannot help but laugh a little, “Usually that means dinner at the one nice place in second tower, but sure, making a home in my brain works too.” 

 

Blue rumbles, affectionate and Lance feels content at her admission. 

 

_ You resonated clearer than the others. You are my Paladin, and I chose you. You will be able to bring the parts of me together again.  _

 

Lance cannot help but smile at her unwavering faith in him, even if the idea of ‘resonating’ is still not really an answer. But he has little time to comprehend, as a map replaces the image of Voltron, and Allura’s voice echoes. 

 

“If you fly to these coordinates, you should be safe to practice forming Voltron. We’ll oversee from nearby. Keep your communications on at all times, in case of an issue,” she says.

 

“Got it, Princess. Okay team, let’s go,” Shiro says in reply. 

 

Lance nods, taking up the controls once again. He yelps suddenly as a snaking coil of blue-gunmetal appears from his hand, slinking and curving upwards as his armour takes shape. He shudders; it feels unbelievably abnormal to have this liquid sweep over, pooling in places as it rides up his shoulders, across his neck and down his back. It isn’t quite cold, isn’t quite slimy but it does glide across, absorbing his clothes and covering exposed skin until he was once again in uniform. 

 

“You okay buddy?” Hunk says, and Lance flushes to himself as he realises his exclamation must have been heard. 

 

“Y-yeah, sure. Just my...armor,” he says. 

 

He wonders if the phrase has meaning, when Hunk makes a noise down the line. 

 

“Oh yeah that’s super weird when it happens!” he says and Lance feels a little better. 

 

“I really want to know what this stuff is made of and how it works. I wonder if Green would give me a bit to…” 

 

“Pidge, let’s just accept some things just happen for now. We’re here. We have a task to do,” Shiro says, cutting through any chatter and Lance realises they have indeed arrived. 

 

Not that ‘arrived’ means much; it’s just another wide expanse of space. Pretty in itself, and still to Lance seems like one of the most fascinating sights he’s ever seen, but no indication there is anything different about this place. 

 

Through his screen, he sees the others come into hover, a circle of metallic giant lions of various colours. There’s a pause over the comms line and then once again, Allura’s voice prompts them. 

 

“Your Lions are connected within your minds. Therefore to form Voltron, you must connect to one another. They want to be whole again, so the potential is always there. You just need to focus on allowing it.” 

 

Her voice cuts out and with that final affirmation, it’s down to them. Lance feels his pulse rise. Allowing someone directly into his head is a level of intimacy people don’t do. Your own mind is meant to be the place for secrets, those parts of yourself that are yours and yours alone. Even with those you most care about, the are corners and pieces that are reserved and kept away. 

 

But they have to do this. Have to share their minds to make Voltron, and Lance knows there must be a way to keep some parts of him locked up, to only share what they need for this. There’s many thoughts and memories he has he’d rather not let anyone see: the time he cried for hours when he’d been lost in a field, the day his sister called him a ‘waste of space’ that despite her apology, still haunts him nearly fourteen years later. His private wondering on occasions where is mind battles against itself and asks if Hunk and Pidge are truly, actually his friends. Killing the Galra soldier. His feelings for Keith. 

 

_ Would that one be so bad? _

 

“It would be terrible! What-okay Blue stay away from that part of my head!” he hisses quietly. Knowing his voice will be heard on the comms, he decides to speak. 

 

“So how do we do this?” 

 

There’s a moment he assumes they are all thinking, before Shiro responds. 

 

“Just...concentrate on our connections with the Lions. If Allura is right, it should be natural for them to want to form Voltron.” 

 

Lance sighs and sits back. It’s as good a guess as any, so he closes his eyes, although he’s not sure why, and allows himself to follow that valley in his head which leads him to Blue. 

 

It’s barely a second before he’s encompassed; a rush that has his fingers twitching as Blue just spreads herself, crashing waves of consciousness that fly up and into the walls of his mind. He can feel her, his heart clenching with the need to bring all the other parts together; keep them steady, cared for, a flaring of plans and ideas of what to do next, an endless line of possibilities flickering forth, each plan to bring them back together. 

 

It was Blue who decided they should do this, recognised what was missing, stolen by the Galra. She could not identify what they had taken, but that it needed to be filled to ensure they combined again. Blue tastes like the sound of rain on petals, the colour of inhaling frozen air, feels like the call back home after a long journey. 

 

He experiences the want, the tug of the soul to be back where she belongs; she is not meant to split so abruptly and painfully. He gasps as the wash over pain overflows. It’s all encompassing, jagged lines marring all her outsides, the scars and ruptures of where she was once whole. 

 

And they forced her apart. The Galra. They cleaved her to pieces. 

 

Lance shudders, acid a fountain in his throat, own limbs feeling like their being stretched and torn until Blue gently pushes him out. Out of her pain, away from the blunt force of the trauma she experienced. Lance feels himself calm, his body and mind easing. He tries to convey comfort somehow, and feels Blue tune to him in response. But she pushes again, and Lance remembers they are trying to connect. So he reaches, senses flooding out to see what it beyond the immediacy of his own mind a Blue. 

 

A golden hue, reminding Lance of the desert when he first met Keith. Strength, huge strength, and the will to remain standing when all else has gone down, to resist and defend no matter the cost. Trickling alongside is a warmth of constant stability, the open door, the architect who builds and creates, carves the way through difficulties smooth as water, making a path through for everyone. Hunk, Lance knows, can feel in his bones. 

 

There’s a dance of delight in the corner of his mind, little sparkles floating in. Lance turns to it, wondering, and that’s when it fully embraces him. That part of Voltron which wants to know, stores information and imburses, uses and filters. It's the child looking at the stars, the adult questioning meaning. The vines of curiosity that wind through, searching for the next patch of unknown. And through it scores this thirst, this need and wish to have an answer now, combined with the failing understanding they will never know everything, never be able to encompass all, no matter how hard they try. And it’s infuriating. _ Pidge _ he thinks with almost amusement. 

 

There’s a blink, Pidge disappears and everything just cuts out. Stops, blank, even Blue is gone without a trace. It’s quiet, so eerily quiet but only for two seconds. 

 

Then, he  _ burns _ . 

 

Flame, a second skin that slips on as easily as Blue did, a phenomenon that has Lance screaming into the void as it hurts, it spits and splinters him. It boils out things from beneath his mind: that feeling when he first flew, that want to go up and up and never let go. Running so fast his legs hurt, running from the house and into the fields, not caring that his sister screamed at him for hours. Wanting to dive headfirst into the reservoir just to feel rebellion and water mix. To climb every wall, cut through every chain. 

 

He knows these feelings. These wants of jumping straight into the mouth of a volcano, to act and not think, to worry about consequence when it’s time for them. But usually he hides them well, tapers them back with plans and responsibility. They rarely escape. But now, they are everything. 

 

_ Red _ , he thinks and there’s a roar in return, so fierce and clear he wants to scream right back. And there, just in the centre, curled up in itself is something else. Lance thinks vaguely, he can now feel Blue, her claws digging into his flesh but he’s too much fire and ash now, he must reach for the centre, the pearl of the oyster. So he reaches, keeps on reaching until. 

 

_ Never be alone again- _

 

And the Blue snaps her jaws and he’s back to himself, doused in ice. He feels himself steam, the contraction of muscles from hot to cold. Abrupt and breaking, but he hears Blue growl in his mind. He’s not sure what happened, doesn’t understand how he could feel Red so clearly, when the others were just a surface glance. He tries to shake it off though; he still has one more connection. 

 

Blue eases when she realises his intention, helping guide him towards Black. The head, the leader. The one who agreed to the plan, who set things in motion, who guided them towards the humans. The one who chose Shiro, resolute and strong of mind, fair and caring, a natural but also practiced leader. Lance feels himself drawn in, feels himself sink back down into the nature of Voltron. And he feels it shift, thinks he maybe spiraling up, up and up, ready to stand tall, to march forward to-

 

It hits him like a bolt of black lightning, carves a hole through his head and he breaks. All of a sudden he opens his eyes and gasps, lifting his hands from the controls to clutch at his head, the pulsing crash of blind pain overtaking everything. He cannot see, he feels sick and is sure he must be dying, the pain is so intense he can barely feel anything other than the pulsing nature of hurt. Then, abruptly, it stops. 

 

As it does, Lance realises his Lion is motionless, floating in dead space. He grabs the controls quickly, Blue responding with a concerned grumble as he does. 

 

“What was that?” he says, voice shaking. 

 

“Lance? Urg, my nose is bleeding,” Pidge’s voice come over the comms in reply. 

 

“You guys okay?” Hunk calls as Lance wheels Blue around, realising he’s turned away from the group. 

 

“Yeah, just a small bleed, you?” Pidge says and Lance cannot help but smile in a relieved way at the grumbling tone. 

 

“I’m fine, buddy. Wait, Keith? You there, man?” 

 

There’s a choked noise that is most definitely not Keith and most certain Pidge, causing him to frown, then Lance slaps his hands over his mouth, although it’s covered by the helmet. His mortification is short lived though when the object of his affections speaks. 

 

“Yes, I’m fine, Lance. Shiro?” 

 

Silence. Lance drops his hands, leans forward in his seat and stares out at the Black Lion. The pause continues and Lance feels his nerves rise, his hands twitching.

 

“I’m fine. Sorry everyone, comms went down for a second.” 

 

Lance exhales and leans back in his pilot seat. His helmet falls down, the quicksilver leaking away and he instantly feels better, more able to breathe even if it is only in his head. 

 

“Thanks, Blue,” he says, quietly as he can. 

 

“Paladins, I think you should head back. We received strange readings a moment ago, although it looks as if you came close,” Allura says, voice echoing across the controls. 

 

They each agree, and Shiro leads them out, flying back up towards the ship. The progress is swift, Lance losing himself in the feel of the controls, the convoy of lions returning home. Lance feels a sentimental nostalgia from Blue, a hint of disappointment. They were close to forming Voltron, close in allowing her to be as she was born to be. Lance feels a wave of sadness joining hers. He wants this for her too, wants her to be complete. He isn’t sure if it’s purely his wants or if he’s  influenced by her emotions so tied to his own, but it’s there. 

 

It’s still strange flying something so large and oddly shaped, so unfortunately Lance’s landing as not as smooth as he would like. He winces as he slams a little to hard into the hanger, noting with some comfort Hunk has a similar end to his flight. However, Keith floats past and lands with barely a jolt, causing Lance to grit his teeth. 

 

“Why is he so good at everything?” Lance mutters, clambering out of his seat as he does. 

 

He walks down the gangway, armor melting away as he reaches the exit. Except, when he tries to push the door open, it doesn’t move. He tries a second time, but the Lion is impenetrable, nothing responding. Lance steps back, looking around for a sign of anything array. 

 

“Blue? Buddy, is the door stuck?” 

 

There’s a strange silence in his mind for a second, then without a noise or flicker, the door rises smoothly as if there had never been a break. Lance frowns, but shrugs to himself, making his way out of the Lion to meet the others. 

 

They fall into a convoy once more, Shiro taking the helm and walking them towards the bridge where he assumes Coran and Allura will be. Pidge and Hunk are discussing the experience, Pidge referencing something they read many years ago about sentient technology, Hunk rapt with attention.  Keith sticks by Shiro carefully, almost treading on his heels like a lost child. Shiro is silent, rubbing his temple slightly as he walks. Lance peers at him, watching as their footsteps echo, shadows moving along the walls.

 

It was once Lance reached out to Shiro, the final part of their connection that Voltron snapped, broke apart. It was expected in a way, it would have been a miracle to master it on the first try. But it felt as if something had prevented them for completing it, the whole thing seemed so certain at the time. 

 

Lance shakes his head as they approached the bridge, focusing on the tall silhouette of Shiro’s shadow in favour of staring at the man himself. He probably didn’t want anyone pestering him, Keith’s hovering already enough. Lance blinks as they approach the room. Shiro’s shadow is...long. Really long. Shiro is taller than the rest but his shadows seems even more so than it should. 

 

“That was good, Paladins! You were very close, an excellent first try. Why, I’ve not seen mental connections like that since the days of Lunora and Tellestie! Those two were incredible, ladies who ruled over the celestial spheres, they could-”

 

Lance tunes Coran out as they move forward, eyes still glued on Shiro’s shadow. It’s too big and Lance thinks its...growing. Elongating as he looks at it, the arms rippling every so slightly. He swallows, heart rate increasing. No one else has seen anything so far; Shiro himself is talking to the Princess seriously, Keith chipping in occasionally. 

 

So Lance just hangs back and stares at the shadow. He feels Hunk move forward to Coran, perhaps interested in the story, but he remains motionless. None of the other shadows in the room are as vast, meaning Shiro’s is not reacting correctly to the light sources in the room. He glances down at his own shadow, confirming it’s far smaller and lighter than Shiro’s appears. 

 

It’s only a second, just a moment to stare at his shadow, to check this isn’t another example of unreality. But in that small amount of time, Shiro’s shadow has changed. It’s an ink stain on the floor, removed of light completely and it’s  _ reaching _ . Reaching to the left where Keith stands unawares, while Shiro remain arms crossed and faced forward. 

 

_ It’s not his anymore _ , Lance’s mind supplies and it doesn’t take a warning growl in his mind for him to run, launching himself across the room and barreling into Keith. Keith isn’t expecting it, and therefore shifts and stumbles, but rights himself quickly, muscles tensing and snapping around as he gains his footing, so Lance is essentially hugging him round the middle. 

 

Normally he’d be mortified at this, but right now there isn’t time for that. So Lance simply stands upright and blocks the path between Keith and Shiro, who has now turned to face him in confusion. 

 

“Shadow!” he yells pointing, but it’s too late. 

 

As they all turn to where Lance indicates, Shiro’s shadow rises. It makes Lance’s mouth run dry, the uncanny way the shadow creature seems to float upwards, all long limbs of darkness quivering in diagonals. Shiro steps back, Allura with him, and as he moves the shadow detaches with a sickening pop that echoes. As it does, it gains form rapidly; arms, legs and torso dropping to resemble something more humanoid as it gains solidity. 

 

It’s tall, taller than a human and broader. Keith moves from behind Lance to next to him in an instant and Lance feels himself poised and ready for action. Fight or flight he still isn’t sure, awaiting any indication of what move to make, how to face whatever this might be. 

 

The answer comes swiftly, for the apparition reaches out one hand, and the shadow starts to peel away. In its place is a clawed hand, then a familiar red and black uniform appears as the shadow parts itself into two. Blue roars in his mind, a flaring of power causing Lance’s fingers to clench against the raw feelings of pain and hatred from her. 

 

Out of the shadow steps a Galra commander, snarling as he does. His eyes glow, one yellow one orange, a grim smile of victory on his face. Then with a speed entirely unexpected for his size, he launches himself at Shiro. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcome and appreciated!
> 
> For previews and general Klance ramblings, find me on on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/EnlacingL/), [Tumblr](http://enlacinglineswrites.tumblr.com) and [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/enlacinglines/).


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